Echoes of the past
by Andreas-Corelli
Summary: Edward King- a treasure hunter, sees his life turned upside down when he takes a mysterious contract: finding the wreck of the Jackdaw. He'll set on a journey across the caribbean's recreating the steps of the infamous Edward Kenway. What he doesn't realize is that he has done the journey before, he just doesn't remember. Modern era/reincarnation story. Read/Kenway
1. Prologue

Montréal, Pierre-Elliott- Trudeau international airport.

Mary sat in the nearly deserted airport bar with a half empty pint of stout for only company. Her finger lazily traced the rim of the glass, as she allowed her mind to roam freely. Like always, her thoughts wandered off to faraway shores and to the memories of things, places and people that were no longer. She let melancholia settle over her like a fog.

Lost in the numbing haze of her memories, she barely heard her phone vibrating against the wooden counter. Returning abruptly to the present moment, Mary quickly reached for the phone. It wasn't a number she recognized, but she picked up regardless. After all, many of her friends relied on burners. A wise choice when one didn't want to be found.

"Hello!" greeted a familiar voice. The voice's ironic tone and it's thick British accent made the caller easy to identify.

"Hey, Shaun," she greeted a bit more dryly than intended. "Oh, I see someone is in a good mood today," replied the Englishman. Shaun Hasting had a unique talent to aggravate people and never skipped an opportunity to use it. Most of the time, Mary found it charming. In this instant, she was about ready to strangle him.

"Anyway," continued Shaun without waiting for a reply. "Are you at the airport?"

"Yes," she answered. "The flight for Tegucigalpa leaves in three hours."

"You might want to change flights," said Shaun enigmatically.

"Why ?" asked Mary intrigued. "How long has it been since you last talked to your old friend Tacher?" asked Shaun, completely ignoring her previous question.

Mary frowned in annoyance. Nowadays, the terms "occasional colleague" or "pleasant acquaintance" felt more appropriated than "old friend". In fact she hadn't heard a word from him in almost a year.

"Well, I'd get in touch if I were you. He just got the most interesting contract. The client is none other than Abstergo." He paused for a moment to let the information sink in. "Now you might wonder why a company with the resources of Abstergo would hire a treasure hunter with a slightly shady reputation and what are they after. The truth is we are not 100% sure, but I do have a theory…"

"You think they're after the Jackdaw?" whispered Mary, her voice almost trembling. "Like I said, we can't be sure," insisted Shaun, cautious as always. "But whatever it is…."

"Whatever it is, we don't want them to find it," she finished. Mary took a deep breath. Already she could feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins. "I assume one of our mutual friends has already booked me a flight."

"Who do you think you're dealing with?" teased Shaun. "You're leaving for Havana in in an hour and a half."

"Thanks," said Mary. "Before I go, did you or Bishop find anything?" The question was asked in a neutral tone, almost casual, although it was anything but. It was the same question she always asked and, as always, Hasting grew quiet, searching for the kindest way to break her heart.

"Sorry," he sighed. "We have nothing. We don't even know if he's… here. Even if he was, he might not be able to remember."

"I know," she said in a whisper. "Thanks you, Shaun." Mary paused a moment, taking a second compose herself and swallow her emotions. "Well, gotta go. It looks like I'm heading for Cuba."

She hung up without any further ceremony and threw a 10 dollar bill on the counter and rushed out of the bar humming. Already her mind was wandering the brightly coloured street of the old havana and echoing with an long forgotten chant:

"Running down to Cuba with a load of sugar,

Weigh, me boys, to Cuba!

Make her run you, lime juice squeezes,

Running down to Cuba…"


	2. Restless Dreamer

_His legs shake under him as he carries her along the seemingly endless corridor. The previous months in captivity have weakened him, but he cannot give up, not now. He can feel her skin burning with fever through the fabric of her gown and her sweat drenched hair against his cheek. He had never seen her looking so vulnerable, so fragile…_  
 _"Edward, stop please…"_  
 _They do not have a single second to spare, but he gives into her demand and lays her down gently. She leans back against the wall, struggling to sit up. Her breathing is laboured and she can barely keep her eyes open. Guilt and horror claws at his stomach as truth hits him: she won't make it out of here alive. He tries to fight the realization, to hang onto denial, but she doesn't give him that luxury._  
 _"I've done my part… Will you?"_  
 _"If you came with me, I could."_  
 _She looks up to him and smiles sadly, her dark eyes filled with tenderness._  
 _"I'll be with you, Kenway. I will."_

* * *

Havana, Cuba

Edward woke up covered in cold sweat, his lips parted to let out a silent scream and his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. "A dream", he thought, gasping for air. "It was only a dream." Edward laid in the dark, trying to steady his breath and unsuccessfully attempting to recall what the dream had been about. It was as if the memory of that dream had shattered the second he had opened his eyes, leaving behind only a few fragments that lingered in the air, teasing him. They danced at the edge of his mind, just out of his grasp, only allowing him a glimpse or two. The only thing he could recall with any clarity was a pair of dark brown eyes.

Rubbing his eyes, Edward reached for the old clock on his nightstand. It was only 4:28 and he knew he was far too shook up to fall back asleep. Sighing in frustration, he pushed the sheets off him and pulled himself out of bed. With a tired grunt, he headed toward the bathroom eager to wash the film of sweat from his skin. He tossed his drenched T-shirt and boxer aside and glanced at his reflection in stained bathroom mirror. He looked like shit. The sweat had made his hair stick to the side of his face and the shadows under his eyes were darker then ever.

For as long as he could remember, his nights had been troubled by dreams like this, but it was never this bad. Ever since the Welshman moved to the Caribbean, the dreams had become much more frequent and left him feeling more overwhelmed then ever and no sleeping aid, medication or therapy had been able to ease his troubled sleep. This week only, it was the third time he had woken up like this, screaming over a dream he could not even remember. It had reached the point where Edward was beginning to fear for his sanity.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he whispered to his reflection, knowing it wasn't a question he would be able to answer today.

* * *

A bit before 8:00, Edward sat down at a small terrace in Habana Vieja with a large pot of coffee and a plate filled with eggs, peas, potatoes and fruits in front of him. He had spent most of the morning roaming the streets of Havana in an attempt to outrun the inexplicable sadness always followed him like a shadow after these was something about the city's oldest part he had always found comforting and familiar. It was strange, but the sight of the old harbour, the Castillo de la Real Fuerza, the Convento de San Francisco de Asis and of all these landmarks had the power to make him instantly feel better, if only for a moment. Savouring the temporary respite, Edward had wandered the maze of streets of the old city until the pit in his stomach could no longer be ignored. Starving, but much calmer and in better spirit, he had decided to head out early to the cafe where he was supposed to meet Ed Tatcher that very morning.

His old mentor did not arrive until 9:30. By that time, Edward was already working on his second plate and his fifth or sixth cup of coffee.

"You're late," Edward said, without looking up from his plate.

"And you look like shit, lad…" replied Tatcher. "Bad dreams again?"

Edward simply shrugged, unwilling to discuss the subject.

"I assume you didn't come all the way to Cuba to talk about my sleep quality. You've got a job for me? "

Tatcher nodded slowly and poured himself a cup of coffee, visibly in no rush to get to the point.

"Can't I both worry about you and have a job for you?" he said, taking a small sip from his cup. "This coffee is crap, by the way," he noted casually.  
"I know. So this job?"

"All right, lad," began Tatcher, reaching for his bag and pulling out a series of files marked with a triangular logo. Edward instantly recognized the logo, it belonged to none other than Abstergo. "I just got an offer for a big contract from a big client as you can see," announced Tatcher, almost beaming with pride.  
Edward whistle impressed. "Wow! Don't take this the wrong way, Ed, but why would a company like Abstergo hire you? Wouldn't they want to associate with someone who has… more credibility?"

Tatcher laughed, not offended in the least by Edward's insinuation. It was true that he was not exactly the type of man one would want to openly associate with. Ed Tatcher had made an excellent living looting various shipwreck and tombs and selling what he found to the highest bidder. All the while, running a fairly successful tourist attraction in the Bahamas called the ultimate pirate experience. It was one of those cheesy tourist traps where people would pay too much money to spend the day on a brig identical to those used in the 18th century. The whole thing was,of course, completed with a costumed crew, shanties, firing blank canons and, when he was there, with Tatcher's rather impressive impersonation of the infamous Blackbeard. All and all, not the credentials a multinational company would normally be looking for.

"To be honest, I don't think they initially wanted to bring anyone from the outside on this." explained Tatcher. "It seemed they just hit a dead end and wanted someone to do the job quietly."

"Are you gonna tell me what "this" is or are you just happy playing the pronoun game?" asked Edward who was feeling especially impatient this morning.

Tatcher laughed and placed a sheet pulled from one of the files in front of Edward with a mysterious smile. It was the enlarged photocopy of an old engraving. The original engraving was stained, but the drawing was still recognizable. It was a brig, her sails up and canons firing at unseen enemies. The ship looked oddly familiar and Edward wondered briefly where he had seen it before. The ship's name was written on the bottom corner of the page. The writing was smudged and barely visible, but Edward still managed to decipher it. Eyes-wide and mouth gaping, he looked up to Tatcher who was smiling behind his beard.

"The Jackdaw?" he asked in disbelief. "Abstergo hired you to find the Jackda… As in Captain Kenway's Jackdaw?"

"The one and only," smiled Tacher.

"But… why?" asked Edward, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

"What do you mean?" asked his mentor.

"Well, why go after that ship? No one has seen or heard from it since 1728, there is almost no clue indicating where is sunk or if anything is left of it and it can't really see why Abstergo would want the Jackdaw. I mean Kenway is mostly a forgotten character by now. It seems like a lot of effort for nothing…"

"Didn't you spent like two years looking for any information on the guy and his ship," pointed out Tatcher. "Apparently they are making an Animus production on piracy and Kenway is gonna be the main character or something."

"It still doesn't explain why they need us to find the ship." insisted Edward.

"I can't be sure why, but I have an idea," smiled Tatcher. "Personally, I think they are looking for any information they can find on the guy, because the whole DNA data recovery thing is bullshit. Think about it- take a relatively unknown historical character learn as much on him as you can, fill the holes in the story with whatever you want, bring it to the public claiming you extracted that from his descendent DNA and pretend to offer them an authentic historical experience. Not that I blame them, really. If I wanted to be ethical, I'd work for a museum."

"So, what's in it for us?" asked Edward.

"A huge fucking pile of money, my lad," laughed Tatcher. "All that, for shedding light a mystery you've spent years trying to solve. So what do you think, boy?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Edward smiled back, raising his cup of coffee to the man in front of him. Then pausing to think for a moment, he added his smile growing even wider: "And you know what, old friend? I think I know exactly where to start..."


	3. The first breadcrumb

Echoes of the past (latest chap.)

Chapter 2: The first breadcrumb

Uncovering history's secrets is not unlike following a trail of breadcrumbs that was progressively being blown away by the wind. A single missing crumb and the trail was lost forever. Until now, that had been the case of the Jackdaw. None of those who had searched for the ships wreck had been able to find a single breadcrumb. History had only retained a few vague testimonies. None very helpful. All anyone could know with any certainty is that, in 1728, Kenway left for a last voyage and returned six months later without his brig, refusing to tell anyone where he had been. Edward had tried for two years to find more about that mysterious voyage, but had been just has unlucky as his predecessors. However, Edward luck never ran out for very long.

A month ago, an interesting rumour had reached his ear. A journal dating, back to the year of the Jackdaw's disappearance had been found and sold to a private collector. Apparently, the journal was a travel logs and, while it made no mention of a name, the dates of departure and returned matched Kenway's last voyage. So far, no one seemed to have made the connection, but Edward knew he had to act quickly. It took a bit of digging, but he had managed to trace the buyer within a few weeks. It was none other than Steve Barnaby. Barnaby -better known the self-assigned nickname of "Stede" as he believed himself to be a descendent of the pirate Stede Bonnet himself, was an eccentric businessman and avid collector of colonial artefacts who had quickly became Edward most important client.

This new contract giving him the perfect opportunity to go see the journal for himself, Edward boarded the next plane out of Havana and, two flights, one bus ride and a taxi later, arrived at the Barnaby's main property in Connecticut. There, he was greeted with excessive enthusiasm by Barnaby. The man had always had a soft spot for Edward.

"Edward, what a pleasure to have you here!" babbled the middle age man happily. "It's always good to see you my dear friend." In reality, Edward and his client were not dear friends by any means (at least not by Edward's account). However, Barnaby fancied himself an important and well respected figure of the treasure hunting circles. He was, in fact neither of those things, but maintaining that illusion was good for business. It made the chubby millionaire feel important and much more likely to trust Edward's judgment without question.

"Stede!" smiled Edward as he fought not to roll his eyes at the self assigned nickname. "How is my favourite _colleague_?"

"Oh, you know me always busy. I wish my affaires allowed me more time to dedicate to my collection, but other then that I have nothing to complain about. Plus, I think my wife would divorce me if I start spending more than I already do on that..."

"Well it's nice to ear you are doing well!" interrupted Edward, before Barnaby began ranting again. "Actually, there is a reason why I flew all the way over here… I need a favour and only you can help me."

"Oh?" asked Barnaby with sparkling eyes.

"I heard you made quite the acquisition lately… a journal."

"Oh, the one I bought last month. You flew all the way here for that?" Barnaby seemed baffled.

"Well! I am doing a bit of research on 18Th century navigation techniques for Tatcher and I wanted to consult a few travel logs from that era. Plus, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to work with you my old mate," lied Edward. It wasn't a very good lie, but Barnaby was not known for his deduction skills and, as Edward expected, the businessman fell for it.

"Well, you know me always happy to help a fellow treasure hunter," said Barnaby with a smile. "The diary is in the library, I can take you there myself and give you a hand."

"Brilliant," said Edward with a forced smile. "But, you know me, I'm easily distracted, maybe it would be better is I did this on my own..."

"Oh… of course."

"And just one more thing, mate… This research is a bit hush hush. Now, I trust you, but I'd rather we kept this between the two of us."

"You're quite right," agreed Barnaby, trusting as always. "It will be our little secret."

"Perfect… now how about you show me that library."

* * *

Only the man about the break the seal Toutankhamon's tomb or to read the documents of the dead sea for the first time, could have understood the emotion Edward felt as he finally found himself alone in the library with the Journal in front of him. There it was, what was potentially the only thing left being by Edward Kenway, laying on a cushion before his eyes. The last witness of a time long gone and of a life that ended centuries ago. With a deep breath, Edward sat down and slid his hands in the white cotton gloves that were meant to protect the fragile document.

The journal didn't look extraordinary. It was a simple brown leather bound diary, stained by the passage of the years. Its only distinctive mark was a small black bird carved in the leather of the spine.

"All right," Edward whispered, breaking the absolute silence of the library. "It's just you and me. Let's see what you have to say."

The spine cracked and a cloud of golden dust rose from the pages to dance in beam of light diffused by the office lamps.

The first entry was dated of a week before Kenway set sails for the last time and was nothing more than a list of material and provision. Judging by the quantities, whomever wrote this list had planned a long voyage, perhaps a transatlantic crossing. The rest of the journal seemed to be entirely filled with travel logs and sketches. Edward read each attentively; hoping one of them would give him the answers he was looking for. He searched for any reference to the Jackdaw, hidden or explicit, for crewmembers name or anything other than the date that could have clearly linked this journal to Kenway. Hours passed and still he found nothing. In fact, there was something strange about the log entries. They all seemed excessively imprecise and impersonal. Even stranger, so far, not a single location or nautical coordinate had been included in the Journal. Almost as if someone had gone out of their way to make sure that even if this diary was found, it would be impossible to deduce anything from it from it. There were even a few page missing at the centre of the diary. Pages that had been ripped out, obviously by someone who did not want them found.

Exhausted, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. It was already nightime and Edward was no closer to finding anything than he was six hours ago. He had read the entire thing from cover to cover over and over again, photographed the various entries and inspected the sketches made in the journal. Still it kept its secrets well hidden. Could the clue he so desperately needed be in one of the missing pages? Fatigue and frustration were quickly gaining terrain over Edward's patience, but he had always been terribly stubborn. Plus, there was one tool he hadn't used yet-a strange sixth sense he had been able to use ever since he was a boy and that was partially responsible for his extraordinary talent as a treasure hunter.

Gathering his energy and forced himself to refocus his attention on it.

After a few moments, his vision blurred briefly and a familiar sensation washed over him. The deep green and oak of library's decor faded as if a silver mist had descended on the room, draining all other colors. Only one thing stood out, the journal, now appeared in a golden hue color indicating its importance. A breadcrumb if he ever saw one. Edward smiled and reached for the book, the golden shimmer disappearing the instant his fingers grazed the paper.

The pages before him were no longer covered simply in the vague entries he had read over and over. On the first page a name was shimmering- Edward Kenway. This was it. The diary had really belonged to the elusive pirate and was the tale of his last voyage. There was more. Additional notes and symbols were now visible on the pages in the margins and between the paragraphs and he could now see nautical coordinate next to certain dates in the same silver shimmer. "Some sort of invisible ink," thought Edward with a smile, thanking his secret talent.

At first, he looked quickly for an entry referencing a shipwreck or a Ship trade, but he found nothing. That part had either been narrated in the ripped pages or had been purposefully omitted. Plus, the previously invisible entries were nowhere as detailed as he would have hoped and often cryptic. However, Edward did not let any of it discourage him. On the contrary, a quest is always more exciting with a few obstacles along the way and the journal now had revealed enough to point him the right direction. Firstly, the coordinate written in the journal clearly indicated that Kenway's last voyage was in direction of the Caribbean, something Edward had always suspected. In addition, certain coordinated and dates were underlined and had symbols next to them probably indicating there were important. In one of the entries dating shortly after his arrival in the West Indies, Kenway also made mentions of an attack, which had damage the ship (an attack that seemed to have taken place relatively close to Havana).

There was also these odd references to some kind of mission Kenway had to accomplish. The cryptic entries alluded regarding the mysterious the Captain's return to the West Indies, something with seemingly defied all sense and logic. After all, that return directly disobeyed the king's order and Kenway had much to lose if it was discovered. The first entry read:

" _While it gives me great pain to leave both my children and my wife behind, this mission was something I simply could not refuse. Tho, I must admit I can't imagine the reason for my departure or why I had to be the one to go. I trust it will all be made much clearer once I meet with the brothers down in Cuba, but, so far, I am kept in the dark."_

It was very strange. After all a pirate turned merchant was not exactly the type of man you imagine risking everything to go on some sort of mission. And for who was this mission? Kenway had no known ties to any groups after Nassau beyond an occasional friend or business association. Plus, who were those brothers he was supposed to meet? Priests? Merchants? or maybe old friends from his time under the black banner? The young treasure hunter had no idea, but there was more. In a later entry Captain Kenway mentioned in vague terms a meeting during which he had been given some sort of cargo- a cargo he had to protect and hid.

" _A great weight is resting on my shoulders. It is now up to me to protect my cargo and decide what should be done with it so that it won't fall in the wrong hands. This task is not something I would have wished upon myself, but, apparently, I have little say in the matter. Anyway, I once made promised to do my part and I intend to honour it._ "

Edward mind was spinning. What could it be? Nothing he could think of would justify this reaction. Kenway had made a career out of stealing and smuggling treasures, so why was this one making him so worried? So far, there didn't seem to be any description of this mysterious cargo. However, Kenway's distaste for it was mentioned several times. It was almost as if whatever he was carrying was bringing back terrible memories. He had even written that " _while I am determined to go through with this task, I can't deny that it is a painful reminder of the folly of my youth and of all I have lost because of it. I often find myself thinking it would be better to simply destroy it._

Through great effort, Edward pushed aside the many questions and speculations dancing in his mind. There would be time for all that later. What was important now was to note all of this. Pulling a new carnet from his bag, the young man began transcribing the new information.

Edward had already transcribed a third of the Kenway's journal, when he was pulled from his work by the sound of a window creaking behind him. He turned around, letting his vision return to normal, and found that one of the windows of the library was cracked open. "Odd," he thought. He barely had the time to finish his thought. A black silhouette emerged from the library's shadow. Before he had the time to exhale, the intruder grabbed his head and violently knocked it on the table's corner. The shock was brutal and the pain almost blinding. Edward could feel a warm liquid pouring from his nose. He awaited for a second devastating hit that would surely bring him to his knees, but luckily for him his assailant seemed to hesitate a bit, giving the time for his adrenaline to kick in. Jumping to his feet and dodging to his left, he barely managed to avoid the next hit. He placed himself to face his attackers, knees slightly flexed and hand raised, ready for the next strike. The two opponents circled each other for a moment, each one gauging the other for weaknesses.

Dressed in black from head to toes, the intruder was actually much smaller and delicate than Edward had expected based on that first hit. In fact, the attacker's frame was small, almost delicate- either a very young man or, more likely, a woman. It was hard to tell, since the face of the intruder was hidden by a black hood and scarf that covered the face all the way up to the eyes. However, no matter who was hiding under that hood, it was clear that they were not to be underestimated. There was something almost feline about the way the intruder moved, each movements quick, graceful and measured. Edward was sure of it; this wasn't an ordinary fighter.

Edward had always been a naturally gifted fighter, but he knew it would not be enough to make up for the impairment the first strike had left him with. His movements were much slower and less precise than normally and keeping focus was a constant struggle. He had to make his move now, while he was still able to. He closed the distance between them, his first aimed at his opponent's face. The attack was quick, but not nearly enough to surprise the hooded-figure- who managed to duck in time, extending a leg to trip Edward in the process. Not skipping a beat, Edward landed in a tuck and roll before jumping back on his feet barely in time to block the blow that was aimed at his stomach. For he while, he was able to parry hit after hit. All the same, Edward knew he was close to collapsing. It was urgent for him to gain the upper hand and it wasn't something he could do carrying like this. What he needed was a ruse, something to throw of his attacker.

He lowered his hands slightly. Just enough to let the intruder believe there was a weakness in his defence, but not so much as to arise suspicion. Now he'd have to wait and see if the intruder took the bait. They did. In less then a second, their foot rose ready to strike Edward at chest level. Just as Edward had hoped. Quick as a snake, Edward's hand moved up, taking hold of his opponent ankle, who lost their balance and fell on their back. Nevertheless, Edward didn't gain the advantage for long. Instead of trying to stop their fall or to break Edward's grasp on their ankle, the intruder used the momentum of his fall and Edward hold to drag him down and send him flying over their head.

Before the young treasure hunter could so much as get back on his feet, he felt a sharp sudden sting on the side of his neck. He raised his fingers to his neck only to find some sort of dart stuck in it. He pulled it out, but it was obviously too late. Around him, the room began to turn and he felt the floor rock like a boat in a storm. He tried to call for help, but he couldn't manage more than an indistinct mumble. He could barely move. All he could do was push himself on his back and watch, reduced to a simple spectator. The last thing he was aware of was intruder walking over to his worktable and grabbing the journal as his mind was submerged by darkness.

* * *

The sunrise was an hour away when Mary reached the barn where she had hid her rental car under the cover of a heavy rain. She slid in the driver's seat and carefully placed her backpack on the seat beside her before pulling back her hood and tossing aside the scarf that covered her face. She rubbed her palm against her face just realising tears were running down her cheeks. Mary sat there shivering and wet as the events of the night flashed before her eyes. Hundreds of questions were spinning in her mind and dozens of different emotions were bubbling inside her threatening to overwhelm her completely. She wanted to scream, sob and laugh all at the same time.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a phone ring echoed in the car. Steadying herself, she picked up.

"So," greeted Hasting. "Was your contact in Nassau onto something after all?"

"Yeah," she answered blankly. "I have the journal and it seems authentic."

"… Are you allright? You sound a tad… off. Was there a problem or something?"

" You might say that. There was someone studying the journal when I got there." She hesitated, uncertain of what to say next. "It was him, Shaun."

There was a long sight followed by an equally long silence on the other end of the line.

"Are you sure? Sometimes people can only see what they want to..."

Mary didn't even gave him a chance to finish his thought. "It was him," she said, her tone leaving no room for further doubts.

"Well, if you are sure, smashing!" Hasting said unconvincingly before pausing for a moment. "Did he seem to remember?"

"I don't think so; It would be pretty pointless to look for that journal if he did. And, no, before you ask I didn't tell him. I know the risk and, anyway, I only realise who it was after bashing his head against a table corner. Would have been pretty hard to start chatting after that."

"So, what now?"

"Leave that up to me." Mary's fingers reached into the bag beside her and pulled the brown leather book from it. "I have an idea."


	4. One step backward, two steps forward

_His mind floated somewhere between sleep and waking. Warm sunlight kissed his skin, its glow painting a canvas of vivid reds against his closed eyelids. A soft breeze brushed hair across his forehead. That tickled, and he wanted to swat at them. Be left in peace. Just him and the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore, and leaves rustling. in the wind. Through that familiar symphony, the faint noise of footsteps coming toward him, reached his ears. He kept his eyes closed, hoping to be left alone. A vain hope as he understood when he felt the sharp poke of a stick against his ribs._

 _"Come on wake up, Kenway."_

Edward's eyes fluttered open. The light in the room, too bright, felt like a vicious attack on his already aching head. Wincing, he closed his eyes with a pained groan. His head was killing him. Same with his face, which felt like he had tried to intercept a train with it. Worst, his thoughts were unfocused and slow as if they were moving through jell-o. Same with his memories, which had been reduced to a few hazy images.

The air around him smelled like sterilizer, and he could hear a faint dripping sound somewhere to his left. Fighting the urge to leave himself drift out of consciousness again, Edward sat up. There was an unpleasant tug at his arm when he did. "An IV," he thought. "Am I really in such a bad shape?"

Wincing at the general brightness, he forced himself to look around. The room he was in was not a hospital room as he had half expected. It was in a large bedroom furnished lavishly. The walls were decorated with a few old maps and engraving depicting various naval combat scenes. So, he was at Barnaby's. That much was clear. Contrasting with the rest of the decor, two IV bags hung from a metal pole and medical supplies were neatly disposed on a metal tray by the side of the bed.

Edward stayed sitting in the bed, eyes lost in a haze. Little by little the fog surrounding his memories dissipated. The blurred images of before grew clearer and more detailed. He could remember coming to Connecticut and studying the journal well enough.

And the attack. He'd been attacked. That, too was coming back to him bits by bits.

He was still trying to piece everything together, when Barnaby made irruption in the room.

"My dear friend, you gave us quite the fright! You were out for almost a day."

"Not so loud, man…my head hurts" he said.

"I am so sorry. 'Still can't believe it happened. You really couldn't have picked a worst time to come visit…"

"The journal, is it gone?" interrupted Edward.

"Yes, and that's not the only thing. That damned thief took a few invaluable pieces."

"What kind of pieces?"

"A brooch given to Sir Francis Drake by the Queen, a sextant that belonged to William Kidd and a document from the Kingston prison. There might be more. We're still recataloging everything."

Edward kept quiet. To anyone other than him, the journal would seem almost insignificant among those other artefacts. Could that mean this attack and the loss of the book was nothing more than a freak coincidence? Had it only been stolen because it was right there, good for the taking? No. Edward couldn't believe that. A thief that climbs three stores and attacks anyone standing in their way is not the type to go for the easiest loot. Plus, the other pieces that had been stolen suggested that the intruder had could tell what items were the most valuable. But, what if that was the point? What if the intruder had purposefully chosen items that seemed more valuable? The greater value items would monopolise everyone attention and the journal would end up being nothing more than a footnote in the insurance report.

Still, many questions remained. The intruder had taken a big risk here and, while the Jackdaw's wreck would be an amazing find, it was the type of risk that went far beyond historical curiosity. "Abstergo hiring Tatcher to find it and now this…" he pondered. It couldn't be a total coincidence. There had to be a connection. Edward simply couldn't imagine how the two pieces fitted together, unless this was all connected to the cargo the ex-pirate had mentioned in the travel logs.

"The police came by to ask for your statement, but you were still out," started Barnaby, pulling Edward from his thoughts. "Did you see anything?"

"… sorry. Whoever did this got me from behind." It wasn't a lie, not really. Simply an edited version of the truth. The full truth invited to many questions and drew far too much attention to himself and the journal.

"How did this even happened?" asked Edward hoping to change the subject. "Don't you have security systems in a place like this."

Barnaby squirmed uncomfortably. "Normally, yes, but there was a big storm the day before you got here and we had some electrical problems, because of that… I was told it would be fixed quickly, so I figured it wasn't that big a deal."

Edward chuckled humourlessly. "I'm pretty sure that someone said that in Jurassic park."

Pushing the covers off his legs, he pulled himself out of bed. The IV tugged painfully in his vein when he did. "Can someone just unplug me from this fucking thing!" groaned Edward, irritated.

His host protested loudly, insisting he was in no shape to go anywhere and should be in bed, resting.

"At least let the doctor examine you, while we gather your things," Barnaby tried to argue. "Your notes and camera are in my office."

Edward froze. "My notes?" he repeated, dumfounded. "They're still there?"

Barnaby nodded. "They were in the library beside you."

The young man frowned. His notes and his camera had been left in plain sight. If the intruder was after something written in those travel logs, why not take the camera and his notes too. They could have gotten sloppy, but nothing about his attacker last night had seemed sloppy. That was yet another question he'd have to set aside for now. For now, everything wasn't lost.

* * *

Edward King landed in Varadero at noon. Much to his surprise, Ed Tatcher was waiting for him outside the Cuban customs, looking strangely out of place among the families and tourist in tacky beach cloths.

"You're picking me up at the airport now?" said Edward. "Did Barnaby called you or something?"

"Your face is a wreck," simply replied Tatcher, ignoring the previous questions. "Have you even seen a doctor?"

"Yes, mum. It's fine. All I've got is a minor concussion, a few nasty bruises and cuts, an almost broken nose and good bone bruise."

Tatcher winced. "It's painful just to look at you, son," he said before changing the subject. "Did you find what you wanted to find?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Ed. I'd rather discuss this in the car."

Tatcher nodded and grabbed Edward's bag before heading for the exit.

Within minutes they were on the road to Havana in the car Tatcher had rented.

"So, want to tell me what the hell happened?" asked his mentor.

"The journal did belong to Kenway like I suspected. I found his name and quite a few other things written in some sort of invisible ink. The problem is that I didn't find the exact location of the Jackdaw's wreck and that the journal was stolen to top it off."

Tatcher smashed the break abruptly before turning to Edward. "What?"

"Jeysus, Ed," said Edward. "Are you trying to get us into an accident? It's not like I've got squat. I was able to write down more than half of the hidden entries in the travel logs and I have picture of the journal. We'll get there it'll just be a bit more work!"

"Sorry, lad. I'm a bit on edge."

"No, shit."

"It's a big job. I could retire on that alone."

Edward scoffed. Tatcher lived for his work. The very idea of him retiring seemed ridiculous.

"I'm serious," said Tatcher who had notice the scoff. "This business is a young man's game and I'm not a young man anymore. I could focus on the boat tour thing, relax and maybe actually work for a museum. Plus, it would make room for you in the market. What do you think?"

"I think you'll be bored within a week," said Edward, laughing. "But if it's what you want, why not. I'll miss working with you tho," he added more seriously.

Tatcher smiled at him, patting affectionately his shoulder. "Well, in the meantime we have to figure out what to do."

Edward pulled his notes from his backpack and began to go through them with Tatcher. They spent the rest of the drive trying to decide where to go from there. It wasn't an easy task given how cryptic the journal could be.

"For fuck's sake," cursed Tatcher as Edward reread a passage out loud. "I don't even get why most of this stuff was written in sympathetic ink anyway. It's practically impossible to guess what he's referencing half the time."

"What were you expecting?" asked Edward with a smile "A map with an X marking the spot." He paused, flipping through his notes. Tatcher had a point. It seemed they were missing some key element to make sense of all this. Perhaps something to do with the people Kenway was supposed to meet in Havana. Still, they had to start somewhere. "What about this: We were attacked just before reaching Havana. The other ship attacked us on sight, making me doubt this is but a coincidence… and we have the nautical coordinate of the attack."

"You think the ship sunk there?"

"No, but he wrote they managed to sink the other ship. There could be something there "

Tatcher nodded unenthusiastically. It wasn't the breakthrough they had hoped for, but at least it was something. Plus, as Ed always said, facts were always a stronger foundation to build upon than interpretations.

Their decision made, Edward put the notes away and closed his eyes for a moment. Exhausted and his head throbbing painfully from the effort, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep as they made their way toward the city. Before he knew it, he was awakened by someone gently shaking his arm.

"Wake up, lad. We're at your place."

Edward looked up, yawning. Tatcher had parked the car in front of the colourful blue building where he rented a flat. He gathered his things and reached for the car handle, but stopped himself before opening it.

"Ed, are you sure they're isn't more to this contract?" He paused for a moment, fidgeting with the handle. "It's just that with between the attack and the diary getting stolen…"

His mentor smiled as one smiles to a child asking about Santa. "No one ever pays that much unless there is more to it."

"Well, as long as we're clear on that," replied Edward trying to mask the pit of anxiety in his stomach with a confident smile.

"Go get some rest, because we got work to do… as soon as your face swells down, of course." He paused, smiling warmly at his protegee. "And try not to worry too much; we'll be fine."

"Famous last words, mate."

"Oh, c'mon on. I'd like to think I could come up with something a bit more original."


	5. Setting sails

Echoes of the past (latest chap.)

Chapter 4: setting sails

It was just past midday and the city was flooded with light and heath. The normally overcrowded Havana streets had grown less lively and emptier as people found refuge in the coolness of their houses. Normally, Edward would have done the same, but not today. Today, he made his way through the almost deserted street along with the few tourists who hadn't been defeated by the suffocating heath.

Sweating like a pig, he reached the harbour, where Tatcher had asked to meet him. He was early, but much to his surprise found his mentor already waiting for him on the sidewalk, a cigar at the corner of his lips.

"We have a small problem," grumbled Tatcher as Edward approached.

"Oh…?"

"My boat and equipment were confiscated."

Edward quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean _confiscated_?"

"Some officials came to me this morning and told me they were holding on to them until my departure. Some bullshit about me being a suspected smuggler and thief."

"Tatcher, you are both of those things," said Edward with a sigh. "So, basically, what you're saying is that we're totally fucked."

"No, what I am saying is that we need to bring in a third partner."

"Great! And where exactly are we supposed to find thisperson?"

Tatcher shrugged. "Well, luckily for us, I know someone who might be perfect for the job- someone who's in Havana at this very moment."

Edward's crossed his arms unconvinced. It almost seemed too convenient. "Who's he? I'm not too fond of working with a complete stranger. Can we even trust this guy?"

"Not he; she," corrected Tatcher. "And yes, I believe we can."

"So who's this mystery woman?" said Edward as Tatcher dragged him toward the docks.

"I met her sometime ago when I was working on that underwater site near Cairo." Tatcher blew out rings of smoke and took another drag from his cigar. "She helped me get to a few pieces before the museum geeks arrived."

Edward smiled. _Museum geeks_ was the term Tatcher used to designate archaeologist and proper historian.

"She does a bit of everything, smuggling, navigation between the island, diving and all that shit. Knows her history well too and most of all she discreet. Worked very hard not to get a reputation with the authorities."

"…unlike you," completed Edward.

Tatcher paused to glare at his protege. "To make a long story short, I've hired her a few time since and I've always been happy with the result. Just one thing, her fee ain't exactly cheap."

Edward sighted. "Fine," he conceded. "But this woman better be worth it."

"Trust me, boy. She'll be worth every penny"

They walked past several boats moored at the pier and stopped in front of a two-masted sailboat. It was an old school model all in wood with its hull painted white and green. _Old school,_ Edward thought, and admired her simplicity. Built for speed and maneuverability, she was a little out of place between the patched up Cuban boats and the large, flashy tour yachts. She looked classy in her own right as she bobbed gently on the still water, wood from stern to bow, with the only modern additions to her two powerful motors waiting to chew up the sea.

Impressed, Edward let out an appreciative whistle.

"She's a pretty one isn't she!" chimed in Tatcher.

"Why thank yah!"

Both men turned around and came face to face with a pretty brunette. She stood on the boat's deck in a loose white tunic and stained khakis that had known better days. Slime and agile, a bit her ship, she climbed on the bulwark and jumped swiftly onto the dock a few feet away from them. Edward hadn't quite known what to expect when Tatcher had talked about this "new partner", but it certainly hadn't been someone like that.

The woman turned her gaze toward him and their eyes meet for a split second. He couldn't explain it, but he felt his breath shorten and his throat tighten, almost as if he was about to cry. There was something about these large brown eyes and the way they stared at him. He felt the inexplicable and almost overwhelming need to take this complete stranger in his arms and bury is face in the crook of her neck. It made no sense, but she felt familiar. He was sure he had never seen her before, but it didn't feel like it. It almost felt like his head injury and years of insomnia had finally driven him insane. He could even hear faint whispers in the back of his mind.

" _Fancy seeing yah here Kenway. Still looking sleek and mean."_

Edward took a few deep breaths, trying to shake himself from the inner turmoil that was threatening to suffocate him. He wasn't sure if she'd noticed his discomfort. Her expression remained impenetrable and he found himself completely unable to venture a guess as to what she was thinking. Still, even if she had noticed something was off, Edward's figured it would be better if he managed to not appear completely unhinged.

"Edward…?"

Just realizing Tatcher had been talking to him, Edward opened his mouth looking for something to say.

Luckily for him, the girl stepped in and extended her hand, introducing herself. "Mary James. Are you all right?"

"Oh… yes," he offered lamely, shaking her hand. "I am still getting over a concussion."

"Sorry to hear."

Edward smiled, as nonchalantly as he could. "Not your fault."

Mary shrugged before turning to Tatcher.

"So Tatcher, gonna' tell me tell me what you guy's need from me?"

"What makes you think we need anything?"

Mary crossed her arms, unimpressed.

"All right," conceded Tatcher. "We are on a little project and we could use you and your dear Captain Kidd."

"Captain Kidd?" asked Edward. He didn't know why but the mention of that name was enough to make his heartbeat quicken.

"My sailboat," she said, smiling fondly. "Well then, let's talk business, shall we? Why do you need me and my boy for?"

Tatcher and Edward exchanged a quick glance, regretting not taking the time to agree on exactly what could be revealed during the meeting. As Tatcher knew the Mary better and given his own confused state, Edward decided it would be best to take a step back and let Tatcher take the lead on this.

"We have some evidence pointing to an unmarked shipwreck that would be nearby. A client of ours has shown interest in it and whatever loots it might hold. And since the Cuban authorities have decided to keep my boat for the duration of my staying, we need a Captain."

"I could do that… for my usual fee. Plus, 20% of whatever the client is paying you, shall we say. "

Tatcher's eyes went wide for a split second.

"Oh, c'mon Tatcher," she said with a half smile and an amused wink. "No one is interested in sending random hands to search random shipwrecks unless they already know something valuable is hidden there or have far too much money to spend and far to little common sense. Either way, I bet you negotiated a pretty sum for this little job."

Even in his trouble state, Edward couldn't help but laugh. The girl was no fool; that much was obvious. Tatcher took a moment to consider the request, more for the form than anything else as Edward suspected.

"All right, _lassy_ , it's a deal."

And with that and a handshake, the deal was struck. Mary asked them for a day to gather the equipment necessary and told them to meet her here the next day at sundown. The night would give them the perfect cover for their little expedition.

With nothing more to decide, she took her leave, leaving the two men standing alone on the pier. Edward couldn't help, but to watch slightly stunt as she walked away.

"My boy, I think you might want to avoid staring at her like that if you don't want to completely creep her out." Tatcher had spoken in a tone that danced between concern and mockery. "You look like a lost pup getting back home. What's the deal with that?"

Edward paused for a moment, before answering as honestly as he could. "I haven't got the slightest idea."

* * *

The sun had finished its descent into the sea, leaving nothing but a pink hue hugging the horizon when _the Captain Kidd_ left the harbour. It reached the ocean, welcomed by a refreshing seabreeze. The wind was ideal and so Mary cut the motors and raised the sails. They fluttered as the wind filed them, pushing the ship forward. The boat glided on the waters, swayed gently by the waves.

Edward was prepping the equipment standing on the small deck, unaffected by the roll of the waves beneath their feet. He was doing his best to focus, but he constantly found himself glancing toward Mary. The hurricane of emotions that struck him the day before had grown quieter, but it hadn't fully gone away. Even now, as he watched her at the helm with her dark brown hair dancing in the wind, he felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy filling his stomach. More than that, the sight of her at the helm felt familiar. Then, there was the most puzzling thing of all. That morning, after another night haunted by dreams he couldn't remember, Edward had realise that what he had experienced the day before was strangely similar to what he felt everytime he woke up from one of those dreams. It was the same inexplicable impression of familiarity, the same feeling of grasping for something lost.

From the helm, the sound of Mary's singing reached his ears. Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but he recognised the song instantly.

 _We swear by rote for want of more._

 _"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!"_

 _But now were through so we'll go on shore._

 _And it's time for us to leave her._

 _Leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

 _Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

 _For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow_

 _And it's time for us to leave her._

"I've always loved this song."

She smiled, without looking at him. "Me too. It always makes me sad, tho."

"Me too."

For a few moments, they simply watched the last lights fade away without a word until Mary broke the silence.

"You seem pretty at ease on a boat."

"Tatcher has been teaching me how to sail since before I could grow a beard". He fiddled absentmindedly with a piece of cordage as he spoke. "And for some reason sailing was almost like a second nature for me. Guess, it's just one of those things I picked up on easily."

Mary didn't say anything, opting instead for her usual secretive smile. Edward couldn't be sure, but for a moment he was sure he saw an affectionate glimmer dance in her eyes as she looked at him.

"You're good too," he pointed out rather lamely.

"Given that my livelihood depends on it, I should hope so. Plus, I have been sailing for longer than I'd like to admit."

"How long?"

Once more, she paused, retreating behind a smile. "I could tell you, but there's no way you'd believe me."

"I doubt it. You can't be older than 26."

"It depends how you count," she laughed.

Edward wanted to ask her what she meant, but Mary simply shook her head, putting a term to that discussion. Whatever private joke had made her laugh; she clearly wasn't willing to let him on it.

By now, the night had wrapped itself around _the Captain Kidd_ like a black velvet drape, leaving them with nothing more than the light of the moon and the stars to light their way. It was barely enough. Especially, since a few shoals and reefs stood between them and their destination. Normally, it would have been a simple matter of being careful and turning on the boats lights, but that risked attracting attention. This, Mary would have to go in blind, using only her GPS and depth sounder. She asked Edward and Tatcher to lower the sails, choosing instead to rely on a single motor. She fixed her gaze on the instruments, focused entirely on the task at hands. Her hands grasped the helm tighter as she steered the boat between obstacles, often having engaging in tight maneuvers to avoid rocks.

Finally, the boat cleared the series of reef and came a stop a few meters from the exact coordinates mentioned by Kenway in his diary. Edward dropped the anchor, and took a moment to look down at the black waters below them. With any luck, this would be it; the mysterious ship that had attacked the Jackdaw centuries ago when it returned to Cuba. The next breadcrumb.


	6. Into the Abyss

On board, Edward quickly traded his T-shirt and jeans for a wetsuit while Mary was busy setting her laptop on one of the plastic crate cluttering the deck, already geared up.

"Hey Tatcher!" she called. "Do you mind taking the helm for a moment and taking us in circles around the era? "

Edward motioned to the computer, intrigued. "What's that all about?"

"Well, after you hired me yesterday, I figured we had two options for tonight. Either waste some precious time searching the seabed ourselves like two complete morons or, simply, use this…" She pressed a few keys and turned the computer toward him. On the screen, a detailed image ocean floor began to form in bright colours.

"Wait, you have an sonar on board?" He shot her an impressed look. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

" Notice that, did yah," she said with a playful wink before returning her attention to the monitor.

Edward sat behind her and began scruting the screen over her shoulder. As the boat circled around the perimeter, the picture of the seabed bellow them grew bigger and more detailed, until it finally revealing a long mass stuck between two parts of the reefs. A mass that looked like large ship.

"Ed, I think we got it," said Edward raising his fist in the air in sign of victory. "You can cut the motor."

Quitting his post at the helm, Tatcher quickly joined them on deck.

"So what do we have here?" he asked.

Mary pointed at the screen. "That's definitely a wreck of some sort. About 80 feet bellow." She paused and pressed a few keys making a small window popped up at the bottom of the screen with more detailed informations. "It's about 60 meters long. How big was the ship you guys are looking for?"

Edward and Tatcher exchanged a sheepish look. "We don't know for sure."

"All right… Was it a English ship or a Spanish ship?"

"We don't know that either," admitted Edward.

"It's part of what we are trying to figure out," said Tatcher.

"So, can you guys tell me how you learned the exact location of a ship you know nothing about and how do you know there is something valuable in there?"

Edward and Tatcher kept silent, both searching for a believable story to spin. Mary watched them struggling like two fishes out of the water, rolling her eyes.  
"If you don't trust me enough to tell me everything, just say it," she said. "It's fine. Just don't take me for the fool I'm not."

Edward looked down, a strange pang of guilt gnawing at him. Doubting others had always been his default mode, the unavoidable result of a difficult childhood and of his chosen career. It wasn't something he normally questioned or felt guilty about. To the contrary, he viewed it as a necessary precaution. Yet, in this instant, their open distrust of Mary made him feel like the scum of earth. He sighted. _Of all the times to grow a conscience._

"We can't tell you everything. Not yet." He took a deep breath, pealing his gaze from his neoprem boots. "We know about this ship because it sunk during a confrontation with an other vessel. We're looking for informations on why the other ship was attacked and who lead the attack."

"So, it's the other ship you guys are really interested in? the one that got away?"

Edward nodded, unsure if he could say anymore.

Mary nodded, her annoyed expression quickly turning to an amused one. "See how easy that was. Now, let's get to work."

* * *

Edward and Mary sank slowly bellow the waves as they progressively emptied the air filling their vest. The beam of their flashlight pierced the darkness ahead, revealing a group of large fish busy feasting on a coral wall nearby. The distorted sound of their chewing echoed in the surrounding waters as the two divers began pushing downward. They descended toward the black depths, fallowing the anchor line to avoid drifting off. The currents were strong, here and the lack of visual landmark would have made it easy to drift away without noticing.

Mary took the lead almost naturally, giving the signal for the decompression stop and pacing their descent. Edward let her. While he was an experimented diver, this was her turf. He intended to respect that.

They progressed downward slowly and carefully, until the light of their electric torches hit the sandy seabed a few meters bellow their feet. Edward reached it first. His knees touched the bottom and a cloud of sediment rose in the water around him glimmering in the artificial beam. Mary was hovering a few feet above his head. She tapped against her air tank to get his attention and pointed ahead with her flashlight. The light ripped through the obscurity and a massive silhouette, as big as a whale, emerged from the darkness. It laid on the ocean floor between two wall of coral that reached for the surface, fading into nothingness past the beam's reach.

Edward turned on the small camera he wore on his head. It would be Tatcher eyes and ears while they were down here. With the camera now running, he reflated his vest slightly and, rising from the bottom, fallowed Mary who was already swimming toward the wreck.

The hull had been colonised by corals, algae and barnacles and the centuries at the bottom of the sea had caused important damages. Though, the damages left by time weren't the only ones visible. The wooden carcass also bore other marks; marks that told a story Edward could read as well as pathologist can read the story behind the wounds on a corps. There were various dents and holes that could only be the result of powerful cannons. There was also the large vertical gash on the portside. Most likely the product of another ships ram.

Edward moved closer to examine the damages, making sure the camera caught as much as possible. Beneath the growing seaweed, he noticed a faded inscription carved in the wood. _The Athena_. An English ship clearly.

The sound of Mary tapping on her air tank echoed in the waters, drawing Edward's attention. He looked around, but couldn't see her anywhere. Slightly worried and unable to identify the direction of the sound underwater, Edward focused him mind until his sense took over. The outline of the wreck turned bright silver and as if the ships hull has been made of glass, he saw a shimmering blue silhouette moving in the ships belly. _So that's where she went,_ he thought. _She must have gotten in through the breach in the hull._ Reassured, Edward let his vision to return to normal and swam toward the opening. When he reached it, he found Mary waiting for him inside. With a hint of impatience in her gesture, she motioned at him to fallow her. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who had found something.

Inside the ship's hold, smashed crates and barrels of all kind pilled up at the bottom, now serving as a refuge for several sea creatures. The celling was mostly collapsed at this point and several canons from the gun deck now found themselves pilled up with the rest of the cargo.

Mary completely deflated her vest and knelt between two of the canons. Using her torch, she casted a small circle of light on one of the cannons. Edward moved to her side to get a better look. The iron of the cannon was marked with an embossed crest. It was damaged, but Edward could still make out the outline of a crowned lion and a castle with three tours. He frowned. Those were not the English coat of arms, as he would have expected on an English ship. It was the coat of arm of the Spanish royal navy. He examined quickly a few other canons and surprised to find the same crest on all of them. _What is an English ship doing with so many Spanish canons?_ There was also another symbol that had been added to the crest on a few of them. A cross. But not one of the 15 commonly used by the Spanish military but that at that time. In fact, it wasn't one you'd expect to find on a Spanish at all. What Edward had before him was a _croix pattée_. _A Templar cross,_ whispered something in the back of his mind. And for some reason that thought terrified him.

A wave of panic crashed over him, bringing with it a splitting headache that made his vision blur. Nausea and dizziness were quick to fallow. Suddenly, he felt more than ever the pressure of the ocean on his shoulders, as if he was about to be crushed by it like a paper doll. Fear and anxiety made Edward's breath quicken and grow shallower, enhancing the panic he felt. He closed his eyes, desperately fighting to regain the control of his mind and body and failing. The roaring and thumping of fear grew louder, deafening him to anything else.

* * *

" _And what is your cause?"_

 _The young man smiled and, with a low click, unsheathed the retractable blade he wore at his wrist._

" _To be blunt, we kill people. Templars and their associates. Folks who'd like to control all the empires on earth, claimin' it's in the name of peace and order."_

* * *

When Edward opened his eyes, he was back on the deck of the _Captain Kidd_ and the concerned faces of Tatcher and Mary were looming over him.

"What happened?" he asked, bringing his hand to his still painfully throbbing head.

"Not quite sure," said Mary. "We were in the water and you started having some kind of a fit and passed out. I grabbed you and brought you back to the boat."

"Thanks…"

Mary smiled and gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "You're welcome. Just watch out, you almost gave old Tatcher here a heart attack." She motioned to Tatcher who simply grumbled in agreement, before continuing. "I was actually afraid it was hypercapnia, but you seem fine now… Maybe you should get someone to look at your head again."

"We didn't finish searching the wreck…"

"… And you won't today," interrupted Tatcher.

"The sun is rising and there are quite a few boats nearby," explained Mary. "Our window has closed, but we can always come back later if need be."

"Not before you see a doctor for your head and get the green flag to dive, work or do anything that isn't resting," said Tatcher, pointing his finger at Edward's face. "And when I mean see a doctor and getting cleared, I mean really go see one. Not just telling me you did and that everything is fine."

Edward opened his mouth to protest, before deciding that keeping his gob shut was a much better strategy. After all, Tatcher knew him far to well to eat up whatever bullshit excuse he would have came up with. He turned his gaze to Mary hoping for support, but she simply shrugged.

"Sorry mate, wish it was otherwise."

A/N

Hypercapnia wis a medical condition caused by an excess of CO2 in the blood which can happened when diving especially if the person isn't using the proper air mix. The symptoms include among other panic, increase breathing, fainting and high blood pressure.


	7. Sleepless

Following Ed Tatcher's orders, Edward spent most of his week on bedrest with his mentor sleeping on the couch to insure Edward's compliance. He had been "allowed" to leave his flat only once to go to the doctor and even that was under Ed supervision. It was driving him crazy. He knew he needed to sleep as much as possible, but the nightmares plaguing his sleep made it impossible. He had held for three days with no real distractions to shake the dreams from his mind, before it became unbearable. Tatcher has asked him to stay in bed. Fine, he would. However, doing absolutely nothing like some glorified houseplant was absolutely out of the question. Especially when there was work to do.

Pretexting the need to sleep, Edward had locked himself in his room immediately turning on his old laptop. He searched for the Athena in every search engines he could think of and found nothing. The name was common enough and several navy ships and merchant vessels had shared that namesake. Then there was the _croix pattée_ that marked the cannons. His instinct led him to think there was something important about its presence. That it was the answer to a question he just hadn't asked yet. Hoping, it would come to him he had researched the symbol extensively and it's various meaning throughout history. It had been a prominent symbol through out the middle ages with many orders adopting it during the crusades. It was also frequently found on royal crowns since the renaissance and became a symbol of military valour for the Prussian army. None of which explained why someone would place it on a Spanish cannon.

A loud knock on the door, forced him to interrupt his search and hide the computer under his bed.

"You better be sleeping in there!" called Ed's voice from the other side.

"Yes _mum_!" shoot back Edward as he settled himself under the sheets with a yawn. He was more exhausted than he had previously realised and his eyelid felt heavy. _Mi_ g _ht as well give sleep a chance._

* * *

 _She leans back against the wall, struggling to sit up. Her breathing is laboured and she can barely keep her eyes open. Guilt and horror claws at his stomach as truth hits him: she won't make it out of here alive. He tries to fight the realization, to hang onto denial, but she doesn't give him that luxury._

" _I've done my part… Will you?"_

" _If you came with me, I could."_

 _She looks up to him and smiles sadly, her dark eyes filled with tenderness._

" _I'll be with you, Kenway. I will."_

* * *

Edward eyes flung open as he jolted awake with a scream stuck in his throat. For a second, he was almost tempted to let it out, but part of him fear that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop screaming. He pulled himself out of bed, wiping tears from his face he hadn't realised he'd shed. This time, unlike before, he remembered something from his dream. It wasn't much; just a sentence. _"I'll be with you, Kenway. I will."_ He didn't know why, but it was enough to make a sob rise in his chest from somewhere deep within. He clutched his fists and he buried his face in a pillow, choking on his tears.

It was dark in the flat, probably still the middle of the night and the only sounds he could hear were the buzzing of the A/C and Tatcher's loud snores coming from the living room. In his mind, one thing was certain. He couldn't stay here. Waiting in the dark with the words from his dream spinning in his mind and listening to Ed's snoring would drive him insane.

Taking a thousand precautions not to wake up Tatcher, he snuck out and left the flat, determined to wander around until the city washed the dream from his mind. At least, that was the plan. As soon as he stepped outside, he found himself getting into a cab that happened to cross his path. When the driver asked where he wanted to go, Edward answered without thinking. "Calles Sol y San Ignacio, por favor."

Before he knew it he found himself standing at the intersection, staring at the impressive colonial building that stood there. Without a second thought, he pressed the buzzer for the flat number four and waited. Just as he was about to turn around, the door unlocked with a loud buzz and a metallic click.

He reached the top of the stairs and raised his hand to knock at the door. Before he could knock, the door opened and Mary James stepped into the hallway her mobile in hand and a worried expression on her face. The worry on her face was quickly to annoyance, once she saw who was standing outside her place. She shushed him and raised the phone to her ear.

"Shawn," she said. "It's fine. It's just him. I'll talk to you in the morning."

She uttered a few _yes_ and a quick _goodnight_ , before hanging up and, finally, turning her attention to her guess.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked half annoyed, half concerned.

"Well, I started doing some research on the _Athena_ and that cross we found on the cannon, but I think I reached a dead end…"

Mary didn't give him the chance to finish. She raised her palm, gesturing him to stop.

"So basically, you found nothing and decided to come here at 2 in the morning to share that fact…"

"I couldn't sleep...Nightmares, or dreams. I'm never quite sure" The truth had slipped from his lips without him even realising it. He looked down, suddenly hit by how pathetic it sounded. "Sorry. I'm not sure why I came here. I remembered the address you gave us and…" He sighted, cutting short an explanation he knew to be unsatisfactory. "I hope I didn't scare you too much, barging in here in the middle of the night."

"'For a second, you got me worried there was a hitman downstairs," she said with a small laugh.

"And, I hope I didn't worry your… friend to much", he said motioning to the mobile in her hand.

"Don't be sorry, my _friend_ always worries." She had emphasised the word friend, answering the question he hadn't quite asked. "So, are you coming in or not?"

Edward paused for a moment, surprised by her invitation. "I hadn't realised I was invited to come in."

"Well… _invited_ might be too strong a word," she smiled. "But, you're here and you clearly need to clear your mind."

Edward's eyes widen slightly in surprise. That wasn't quite the answer he had expected. Schooling his expression, he shot her a half smile and took a step toward her. Mary kept still, her back leaning against the doorframe as he moved closer. A small smile danced at the corner of her full lips. Both an invitation and a challenge. He stopped, his body close enough to brush against hers, and dipped his head brushing his lips against the warm skin of her neck. He felt her pulse quicken and flutter against his lips, but, before he could go further, her hands firmly pushed him away.

"Not what I meant…" she said, resolute if not slightly breathless.

Edward took a step back and opened his mouth, ready to spout an apology (something he seemed to be doing far too much around her), but she stopped him before he could utter a word. "Just get inside already," she said her tone growing more impatient. "We're not gonna spend the night here."

Mary's place, like many colonial residence of the old Havana, was a throwback to a time long past. As if those houses and buildings had never quite reached the present time, not unlike Cuba herself. The large rooms, the floor of marble and porcelain tiles and high ceilings, all standing witness to an era when rich spanish merchants owned this city.

"Nice place. How did you find it?"

"It belongs to a friend. They let me borrow it whenever I come here." she said grabbing a bottle from a large wooden cabinet. "Rum?"

"Why not," he said as he glanced around. "Those are good friends you have. Maybe you should introduce me."

Mary smiled and poured two small glasses of dark liquor. "Maybe some day."

Edward grabbed the drink she offered him and followed her slightly puzzled as she lead him away from the main living room, choosing instead to invite him into a large bedroom. Her's he assumed based on the presence of clothes and personal belonging around the room. Edward leaned against the doorway and watched as she sat on the bed, her glass in hand.

"I thought fucking was off the table," he pointed out with a half smile.

"It is," she confirmed, ignoring the slight disappointment that flashed across his features. "But if we are gonna sit around and talk at this hour, I'd rather be comfortable."

Edward kicked of his shoes and sat on the bed, more nervous than he would have liked. Sex, he was used too. It was simple, mechanic- a quick fix to hide undesired thoughts beneath a veil of dopamine and serotonin. Talking was much riskier. Too many doors that could be opened accidentally, doors that were closed for a reason. Tonight, with his mind was still shaken by the dreams and with someone as perceptive and as confusing as Mary, the risk seemed even higher.

"So what was that dream about?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I never do. I think there all the same or… are all about the same thing, but I can't be sure." He took a small sip of rum, the rich and sweet taste of the liquor filling his mouth. "It more a feeling when I wake up, or some shit like that." He stopped there, not sure he had the words or desire to explain what the world felt like in the wake of those dreams.

"How long have you had them?"

"All my life, I think." He paused, settling himself more comfortably against the pillows. "I remember having them once in awhile when I was a child. It grew more frequent after I turned 20, and even more so since I moved here. And it's practically every night."

Mary kept silent, as if taking a moment to process the information.

"Have you tried…" she began.

"Yes."

"You didn't let me finish my question."

"It doesn't matter." Edward sighted. "You name it, I've tried it. Neurologist, psychiatrist, pharmacotherapy, hypnotherapy, etc. I've tried proven treatments and snake oils alike and none of it worked." The words sounded bitter. More than he'd intended, but Mary didn't seem to take offence.

"Sorry," she said placing her hand on his shoulder. For a moment, she looked as if she was about to ask him something else, but instead she simply shook her head sadly and brought her glass to her lips.

"So, how long have you know Tatcher?" she said, opting instead for a change of subject.

"Since I was 12. We actually meet because I stole his wallet," he added with a smile.

"Sounds like quite the story."

"I was quite the pickpocket at the time and some kid dared me to steal something from the _big scary man with the big scary beard_." Edward chuckled remembering the kids word.

"Did you managed?"

"As I said I was quite the pickpocket," he said with a wink and a grin. "But the next thing I knew, _the big scary man with the big scary beard_ shows up to the foster house asking to see me. To this day, I have absolutely no idea how he tracked me down and that old shit still refuses to tell me." Mary snorted choking slightly on her drink as she burst into laughter. Edward smiled. He liked hearing her laugh.

"Anyway, I went to meet him expecting the beating of a lifetime or to find my foster parents already on the phone with the social worker asking for my immediate transfer. Instead, he took one look at me and asked me if I liked boats. He took me sailing the next day." A softer smile light up his face as the memory of that first day spent on the waters with his new found mentor. To this day it was one of his fonder memories and one he had never shared with another living soul.

"When I turned 15, he actually became my guardian. He would have done it sooner, but it took him three years to convince a judge that the single middle-aged man with a dodgy job really wasn't a total creep."

Edward drained his glass and set it on the nightstand. Rearranging the pillow on his side a bit, he laid on his side observing Mary without a word. Her smile had vanished from her face like a thief in the night. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes fixed on the stained glass chandelier above theme.

"Are you all right?" he asked hushing his voice without any real reason to do so.

"Sorry, my mind was wandering."

"How about you?"

"How about me, what?"

"I don't know. Where are you from?" It was a simple question, but Edward almost felt as if he'd asked for a dark intimate secret. Regardless of the sense of familiarity he felt around her, or perhaps because of it, he saw everything touching Mary has shrouded in mystery and he wasn't quite sure she was a mystery he had the right to solve.

"I… don't know how to answer that," she finally answered in a blank voice, her eyes glued to the ceiling

Edward was taken aback. He had expected her to dance around the question as she always did, answering without really answering. However, this answer didn't feel like one of her sarcastic parry. It was the admission of a limitation; of a door she needed to keep locked for now.

"We can just talk about something else," he offered, stifling a yawn. He wanted to stay awake and keep talking to her, but already he could feel himself nodding off. His mind now wiped clean from the panic and sadness of earlier, it was almost impossible for him to fight the weight of sleep.

"You know," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm almost glad we didn't shag."

"Goodnight, Edward," chuckled Mary. "Fair warning; try anything while I sleep and you'll be sleeping on the floor."

He could only managed a small grin as he sank into a deep sleep.

And, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, there were no dreams lurking in the shadow of his mind. Nothing to wake him up screaming. That night, his mind was peaceful and quiet.


	8. the right haystack

The right haystack

When Edward awoke, the first thing he noticed was that, for the first time in months, he felt rested. Even more amazingly, the excruciating headache that had followed him since the incident in Connecticut had dulled to a fading ache. He turned on his side with a yawn and found the spot beside him empty. Mary was gone, leaving the imprint of her head on the pillow and her smell lingering on the sheets as the only traces of her presence.

His mind still pleasantly groggy from sleep, Edward sat, rubbing his eyes. It was already daytime and sunlight filtered through the coloured glass of the windows, spilling on the tiled floor to create pools of red and blue. Fighting the urge to lie back and let sleep take him again, he forced himself on his feet. _Better go find Mary,_ he thought and he headed toward the door with one last longing glance to the soft mattress.

He found her sitting at the dining room table a small wooden pipe resting at the corner of her full lips. Edward couldn't help but to smile at this strangely out-dated habit of hers. It seemed so out of place for a woman in her mid twenties and yet it just fitted her.

"Good morning," he greeted sitting down next to her.

"It's a quarter to three. A bit late for _good morning,_ don't you think?"

"I slept all day?" said Edward bewildered

"Looks like you needed it." She motioned to the coffee pot on the table. "Coffee?"

"No thanks," he said. "I should probably get back to house arrest before Ed reports me as a missing person."

"I already called him this morning to let him know where you were."

Edward winced. "How pissed was he?"

"Somewhere between very and ready to strangle you. You should know better than to leave in the middle of the night without leaving mommy a note." She took an other drag for her pipe and exhaled slowly, pausing to watch the smoke dance in the air . "Don't worry, I talk edhim down a bit. Truth be told, I think he was just relieved you slept."

Edward rolled his eyes in a childish display of annoyance. Still he secretly made a mental note to apologies to his mentor. For all Edward's complaints about Ed Tatcher'a mothering, he actually treasured that aspect of their relationship. It was as close to having a parent as he'd ever gotten.

"Well, I should go," he said glancing at the antique clock that stood in the dining room. "Thanks for that chat and for calming down Ed."

"My pleasure."

As Mary walked him to the door, Edward found himself considering how to say goodbye in this situation. The protocol he normally applied to colleagues certainly didn't apply here, nor did the one he used when taking his leave of one-night stands. A handshake seemed too formal and he was slightly afraid she'd interpret anything more as him hitting on her again. As if she sensed his discomfort Mary patted his arm playfully and shot him a radiant smile he couldn't help but return.

"One last thing, Edward," Mary said has he was crossing the threshold. "About your little problem with _the Athena_."

"Ah, that?" This new dead-end hadn't even crossed his mind since he had woken up.

"I think you were just looking in the wrong place. The Internet is too big a haystack, it's too easy to miss the needle or to find the wrong one."

"And do you have a smaller haystack for us to search?"

Mary crossed her arms and the corner of her lips twitched, forming her usual secretive half-small smile. "I just might have."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Now, where's the fun in that."

Edward bit back an amused grin. "You do have a flare for the dramatic, I'll give you that."

"Just meet me near the park between the Industria avenue and _la Paseo de Marti_ at exactly 12:00 in two days. Bring Thatch."

"Tatch _er_ ," he corrected.

Mary looked at him with a frown "What?"

"You called him _Thatch._ And while his impersonation of Blackbeard is quite something, he's hardly the real deal."

Edward expected her to laugh, but he got nothing more than a quick smile that never quite reached her eyes.

"Maybe in another life," said Mary, her forced smile quickly melting away. "Just remember 12:00 sharp. I'll be at one of the terrace near the park".

* * *

Centro Habana was the beating heart of the Capital. A once magnificent neighbourhood, it had certainly lost much of its shine since the collapse of the Cuban-Soviet trade partnership in the 1990's. It was now a strange melting pot of residences, shops, and street vendors of all kind mixed with monument of the revolution and government building. Several of the buildings were in desperate need of renovation which the state couldn't afford with it's limited budget. It was noisy and dirty. Even, the air felt more tense in these streets. Here, more than anywhere else in Havana, the cracks in the fiction created by the Cuban propaganda were showing, revealing the many problems officials worked so hard to deny. Still, it was the magnet toward which all gravitated at one time or another. Much like Tatcher and Edward did today.

They made their way through the overheated and overcrowded streets, dodging the salesmen and improvised tour guides that wandered the streets looking for some gringo to harpoon. They walked past by the Capitolo and down the Paseo de Matri avenue until they reached the park mentioned by Mary. There were only two terraces nearby, both fairly touristy places, but the type Edward would d have expected Mary to pick. He scanned the crowds gathered on the terraces and found her as the nearest one, sitting at a table and sipping a large mojito. She was dressed in jeans shorts and a colourful paisley blouse, which seemed a bit too flashy for her. The ensemble was topped off with flip-flops and large sunglasses and she wore an imposing camera around her neck. Dressed like that she looked more like an average tourist then the adventurer they had meet at the docks a week prior.

Edward had expected her to notice them and simply sat at her table drinking and snapping picture between sips. They had almost reached the terrace, when she finally seemed to notice them. To both men's surprise, as soon as she saw them, Mary stood up and waved enthusiastically at them. With apparently no concern for discretion, she gestured at the empty seats at her table and called out to them.

"Do you think she's already found the info on _the Athena_?" asked Tatcher.

"I don't know," admitted Edward. "She didn't tell me much yesterday."

"Must be hard to talk and screw at the same time."

Edward let out an irritated sight. "For the last time, nothing happened. We just… talked."

Ed made a noncommittal grunt. "Somehow, I don't know which of these options worries me the most."

"Are you worried for me or worried for her?"

"Let's just say I see how it could end badly for both of you… but I mostly worry for you."

"Why?"

"Because, you're not as immune to that kind of stuff as you think you are."

They were forced to cut their conversation short as they stepped foot on the terrace where they were greeted cheerfully by Mary. Edward frowned, puzzled. Granted, he hadn't known Mary for long, but he knew her well enough to know that all this exuberance and bubbliness wasn't her style.

"What on earth have you found that made you so chipper?" asked Tatcher, who obviously had also noticed Mary's behaviour.

"Nothing yet. I have an idea where to look, nothing more" she replied. She turned to the waitress, pointing to her glass with one hand and raising three fingers with the other with an apologetic smile. The meaning of the gesture was clear enough: _three more of these, please._

"You don't speak Spanish?" Edward asked surprised as he watched the waitress disappear.

"Of course, I do," said Mary with a shrug. "But most tourists don't."

"So, is there a point to that little circus of yours?" asked Tatcher who was growing impatient.

Mary waited until the waitress had returned with the drinks and left again to answer.

"Hiding in plain sight, Tatcher. That's what it's all about. If anyone ask about the people sitting here they'll remember nothing more than a friendly, but annoying tourist who met some friends."

"And, why do we need to be hiding in plain sight exactly?" asked Edward.

"I'll get to that later. Do you see that building across the park?" Mary motioned toward a plane grey building built in the soviet style. Edward and Tatcher nodded. "Parts of the national archives are kept there. The fifth floor should be of special interest to us. It's where they keep most of what's left of the documents concerning colonial era."

"Interesting," conceded Edward. "but I don't see how it's gonna be useful."

"The Havana port's archives are among those. So, if _the Athena_ docked in Havana, it'll be in those records along with the name of the captain. "

"That's actually brilliant, lass," said Tatcher. "Do you know someone who can get us in?"

"In a way." She turned to Edward. "You did say you use to be quite the pickpocket."

* * *

Carlos Andres was a man of habit well suited for his job as a security guard. Unlike most Cuban who were very latin in their conception of time, he always woke up at the same time and always arrived at work at 9:30 sharp. The same was true of his lunch break. Everyday, he clocked out at 12:30 only to return at 14:00 and, everyday, he ate at the same cantina; a small hole in the wall near his work.

Today was no different. He clocked out at 12:30 and cut through the park toward the cantina. He was almost close enough to smell the pork a la cubana when someone bumped into him, sending him tumbling back. Carlos Andres hit the stone path with a grunt of pain. Ass still on the ground he looked up to identify the culprit. The person responsible was a tall blond man in his twenties evidently too busy taking pictures to bother looking where he was going. When he saw Carlos Andres on the ground, he lowered the camera and kneeled down, stuttering an apology in a broken Spanish. Restraining himself from cursing out, Carlos accepted the strangers extended hand and let the man help him back on his feet.

" _¡_ Todo es bien?" the stranger kept asking in his approximative Spanish.

"Si, si. Estoy bien. No te preoccupes, amigo," said Carlos hoping it would be enough to get rid of the annoying gringo. Luckily, it worked. The man finally let go of him and, with a final apology, headed his own way. _Finally,_ thought Carlos. _Imbeciles de gringo._

* * *

With the security guard out of sight, Edward disappeared behind the nearest street corner. Tatcher and Mary had already left the terrace and were waiting in an alley next to the archive building.

Mary had abandoned her tourist's disguise and slipped into a security guard uniform identical to the one worn by the man Edward had just robbed.

"Where did you get that?" Edward asked.

"Does it matter?" Mary said with a smirk. "Do you have the key card?"

Without a word, Edward pulled the key card from his back pocket and tossed it to Mary, earning himself an appreciate smile.

"Do you have one of those uniforms for me?" he asked.

"Nope. A blond man in a Cuban uniform would risk drawing attention. For you I have this." Edward's eyes widen as he looked down to the piece of paper handed to him. The top of the page read _Permiso para acceder a los archivos_. The document looked authentic even bearing the seal of the National cultural heritage council and the signature of the minister of culture.

"Is that real?" asked Tatcher impressed.

"Of course not. If I could get a real authorisation to enter the archives, I wouldn't be wasting time be playing dress up or making Edward steel key cards." Mary slipped the card in her front pocket. "We'll say Edward is a guest of the university, but, Tatcher, I'm sorry, but I think sneaking a third one would be pushing our luck."

"Don't worry," he shrugged. "'Stealth was never my thing anyway."

Mary and Edward passed the front doors and found themselves in a dark atrium. It was empty except for a half asleep security guard sitting at his station behind a glass partition.

"Just don't look straight toward the left corner," whispered Mary between her teeth. "Surveillance camera."

"Are there more?"

"Yes, but it's the only one that really works," she explained as they walked toward the security guard's station. "No funding to replace the broken ones."

Edward nodded and followed her carefully, turning his back to the camera.

"Hola," said Mary."Accompaño un invitado de la Universidad."

Edward greeted the man with a nod and handed him the fake authorisation. The guard barely glanced at it and opened the next door for them with a shrug. _Clearly, not the most conscientious employee_ , thought Edward, before it hit him that Mary probably knew that and most likely counting on it. _But how could she have?_ thought Edward. Surely, it was impossible to plan a break in in such details in only 48 hours. He glanced at her as lead him out of the atrium and into a long cramped corridor. Her expression didn't betray the slightest hint of nervousness and, while Edward was nothing short of a talented liar himself, he was impressed by her cool.

The corridor ended abruptly with an old elevator. There was no button to press: instead, there was a key card reader on the wall. Mary pulled out Carlos Andres card and swiped it. A small green light flashed above the magnetic lock and the door opened with a loud creak. They stepped inside and the elevator began its rise with a metallic shriek. The elevator moved at a snail's pace and took over two minutes to reach the fifth floor.

As they waited for the doors to open once more, Mary's finger went to her watch."All right," said Mary as she started the timer. "It's 12:55 and that guard we stole the key from will be punching back in in an hour. We need to be out before that."

"Not much time to find what we needed," said Edward.

"Well, it will have to do." Mary too a deep breath as the door began to open. "Ready?"

* * *

The fifth floor was plunged into obscurity. Mary fumbled in the dark, her fingers running against the wall in search for the switch. There was a low buzz and one after the other the neon light lighted up with a loud _thud_. Their flickering light revealed a series of tiny rooms where cardborard boxes and piles leather bound books were gathering dusts on the shelves. Several of the volumes seemed in pitiful condition. There were few window, all of them had been blocked with cardboard in a half assed attempted to protect the ancients documents from the sunlight. Evidently, it was the only precaution taken to protect the document.

"What a mess this place is!" said Edward with a pang of anger. He knew he was no saint himself, but his lack of work ethics had its limits and leaving precious document to rote away was beyond what even he could forgive.

Mary shrugged. In truth, she had expected the place to be much worst. "Between the Battista and the Castro regime, the preserving the archives hasn't exactly been a priority." Her eyes scanned the shelves as she talked. "Dictators rarely like History. It contradicts their version of events too often."

Edward nodded in agreement. _And people wonder why I don't trust public institutions._

With a discouraged sigh, Edward headed to the nearest shelf and began scanning various documents. They searched through the rooms looking for the port's record, but the general mess and lack of a proper filling system made them lose precious time. It was Edward who finally found them in a small cabinet not much bigger than a closet. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with shelves crumbling under the weight of heavy books, all identical. Their covers were made of plain beige leather and it would have been impossible to tell one volume from the other had it not been from the dates written on the spine of each one.

"You said you had a date for the wreck?" asked Mary, glancing at her watch.

"June 27th 1728," said Edward as he scanned the shelves for the right book. With the right date (and his sight), finding it was child's play. He pulled out the book carefully and, using an abandoned cardboard box as an improvised table, he began flipping through the pages until they landed on the pages marked 27 de junio 1728. From there, they went back looking at the name of every ship that had docked in Havana in the previous days. To their great relief, _the Athena_ was among the names mentioned.

According to the records, _the Athena_ had docked in Cuba on the May 22 and had left after only three days. Which meant the ship had left the harbour two days before it crossed path with the Kenway's ship. What was strange was that the wreck's location was less than a day of travel away. _Could that mean the Athena was waiting for the Jackdaw?_ Edward wondered, remembering the impressive artillery found in the wreck and the mysterious cargo Kenway had discussed in his journal.

The record also stated that _the Athena_ had arrived from Nassau captained by an Englishman going by the name of William Bates. The name seemed familiar to Edward, but he had no idea where he had heard it before. Still it confirmed their suspicion. The ship was English. However, it wasn't quite clear what _the Athena_ and her captain had been doing in Havana. Mister Bates had listed merchant as his occupation, but whatever goods he was supposed to be selling he hadn't specified.

"Look," Mary said, pointing at an empty line in the record. "For some reason, William Bates wasn't taxed or charged when he docked."

Edward frowned. At that time, English merchants who sought to commerce with Cuba had to pay a hefty tax and with the relation between Spain and England being as tense as they were, _the Athena_ should have been taxed and there should have been a trace of it in the harbour record. Edward was trying to come up with a plausible explanation for it, when his eyes fell to section of the page which normally would be reserved for a description of the cargo.

"I guess it would be bad form to search a guest of the Governor," he said.

"What?"

"Here." Edward pointed at the short sentence that had been scribbled instead of the cargo list and read it out loud. "As per the Governor's order, the cargo's inspection was foregone for his guest."

"That could explain the Spanish canons on the ship…"

Before anything more could be said, they were interrupted by the alarm of Mary's watch.

"Well, time's up, Edward. We have to go. We have 15 minutes tops to get out of the building, before Mr. Andres gets back from his lunch and starts to wonder where his keycard is."

"Just a few minutes, I just had an idea and I just need to check one more thing."

"No, we don't have the time. We have to go. _Now_."

Ignoring the urgency in her voice. Edward flipped began scanning through the dates following the 27th. It had just occrued to him that _the Jackdaw_ too might be in theses records. Now that he thought about it, it was idiotic that he hadn't seen it before. Havana had been Kenway's destination and the damages from the fight against _the Athena_ as Kenway had described them would have made it impossible for _the Jackdaw_ to sail very far.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing? Are you trying to get us arrested?"

"Just one more minute," he repeated.

"You reckless moron!" she hissed at him.

"The ship that sank _the Athena_ … I know it was damaged. It has to be in here somewhere." Barely taking the time to formulate complete sentences or to fully explain himself, he continued going through the pages with shaking fingers. His pulse was racing and he could feel beads of sweat rolling from his forehead as he kept on reading. From what he could see, five ships had docked in Havana with substantial damages in the days following the 27th. None of which had been declared as _the Jackdaw_ , but Kenway's mission, whatever it was, was secret and to use an alias for himself and his ship would have made sense. Especially given the fame acquired by _the Jackdaw_. But the clock was ticking and Edward didn't have the time to figure out which one it was. He could practically feel the tension in the air go up a notch with every second that passed. Still giving up now was unthinkable, even knowing it was the only reasonable and logical thing to do.

However, Mary had enough. Before Edward could utter a word of protest, she pulled a small retractable knife from her pocket and sank the blade in an open page, right at the margin. One slice of the knife and a dozen pages were cut loose with a loud tear. She crudely folded the pages and stuffed them in her shirt, before placing the book back on its shelf.

"We have what you need," she said, her voice filled with barely controlled rage. "Now, we need to get the fuck out of here out before your idiocy get us in jail _again_."

She grabbed his hand, giving him no chance to protest or ask what she meant and dragged him toward the exit. They had almost reached the elevator when a low metallic rumble rose from the chute. Someone was coming up.

"Shit," cursed Edward through his teeth.

"Okay, change of plans," said Mary. She quickly turned of the lights and turned to the one of the covered windows. She removed the piece of carton blocking it and sunlight poured into the room, almost blinding after an hour in the poorly light archives.

"What are you doing?" asked Edward in a hushed tone. "They'll notice that."

"They'll just think it fell… or something," replied Mary visibly unconcerned with that detail. "Anyway, if you wanted discreet you should have listened to me and stuck to the plan." She opened the window. "Climb out."

"You've got to be joking."

"Edward, we don't have the time."

The sound of the elevator grew louder, putting a definitive end to Edward's protest. He reached for the window frame and did as he was told. The window opened to a flat roof, which he reached without too much effort. Once he was one the other side, Edward held out a hand to Mary ready to pull her out. She shot him one glance and, ignoring the offered hand, grabbed the window frame and hauled herself out. Her feet had barely touched the roof when they heard the elevator door open through the window.

Edward slouched against the wall taking a moment to calm his racing pulse. "Thank good those door take forever to open," he said.

Mary didn't bother to respond, simply closing the window carefully.

"We can't stay here," she said, jumping on her feet. "Try to keep up." And with that she ran toward the edge of the roof. Edward raced after her, not sure what she intended to do. Paying no mind to the paved street several meters below, Mary leapt off the edge and landed gracefully on the next building's roof with Edward a few steps behind her. He followed her, matching her pace, as she bounced from one obstacle to the next. He had learnt to climb as a boy and for most of his childhood the city's roofs had provided him with a much-needed sanctuary. To him, it was like riding a bike. Still, Mary didn't seem especially inclined to making things easy for him and Edward was often under the impression she was intentionally taking the most difficult path. Whether it was a challenge or a punishment, he couldn't tell.

Mary hopped down onto a small balcony overlooking a narrow street. She cleared the banister and latched onto the wall. From there it was only short climb to reach the ground and the heavily damaged facade provided many grips. Luckily for them, the small street was practically empty. The only people there to witness their little getaway were two elder men sitting on a bench who seemed quite entertained by their little stunt if their smiles and applauds were anything to go by. Never one for excessive modesty, Edward bowed and smiled in return.

"Well, that was fun," he said to Mary who was already walking away. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Mary froze on the spot, her entire body tensed. She turned tail to face him and before he could say a word, shoved him. She was surprisingly strong and the push sent Edward stumbling back almost making him fall to the ground.

"Not fun. Fucking _insane_ ," she spat, her voice trembling with anger. "Reckless. Stupid. Dangerous." Each word was punctuated with a new shove. "Do you not fucking realised that bullshit like that is not only dangerous for you, but for everyone working with you as well?"

Edward looked down, embarrassed. "I wasn't thinking," he admitted.

"No shit, you didn't! You're like a child not realizing he'll get hurt playing with matches." She was still screaming at him, but at least she was done shoving him.

"I know! What I did was incredibly dangerous and anything you want." He paused, before motioning to a piece of paper peeking out of her collar. "But, it's done and we've found a way out of it… And, if I'm right about this, it'll be worth it."

Mary took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from going off on him again. "Be careful, because some day, you might not be able to find a way out it and, trust me, when that happened, you'll pay a heavy price."

Her words hit him like a gallon of iced water, sobering him up instantly. Tatcher had always told him that risk was part of their trade, but his behaviour today was nothing short of foolish. Even he couldn't deny it. Nor could he deny that Mary had almost paid the price of his foolishness. A lump formed in in throat at the thought. Was she right? His luck had never ran out so far, but how long until it did? _And then what?_ he wondered. _What will be the price then?_

" _Edward… Everyone is gone, aren't they? Mary. Rackham. Thatch. And all the rest. I miss them so, rough as they were. Do you feel that too…? All empty inside."_

" _I do. Devil curse me, I do."_

Ignoring the whispered words echoing in his mind, Edward looked up to Mary and opened his mouth to apologies, yet, somehow, the words caught in his throat, unwilling to spill from his lips.

"We should go meet Tatcher, before he starts worrying again," he said instead.


	9. Finding the Needle

Finding the needle.

Later, Edward and Tatcher found themselves sitting in Mary's dining room. Mary had left for a walk, most likely in an attempt to keep herself from blowing up at Edward again. _That's quite a temper she has,_ he thought trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling gnawing at his gut. It wasn't her anger that was bothering him. That he could deal with and even understand it. It was the thinly veiled disappointment beneath her anger. He thought back to the look she'd shot him as she'd stormed out and his heart sank in his chest. _Get a hold of yourself, mate,_ he thought. _So what if Mary feels disappointed. It's her problem, not yours._

"So have you found which one is the Jackdaw?" Tatcher asked. Edward looked down at the stolen pages in from of him and realised he had been staring at them for several minutes without reading a single word. _Focus,_ he scolded himself.

"Not quite," said Edward. "How about you, found anything on our Captain Bates?"

Tatcher looked up from his laptop and nodded. "He began his career as a navy man, fought in West Indies during the war with Spain. He also spent quite a few years chasing pirates."

"Really?"

"Yes, he was actually part of the blockade around Nassau."

"Maybe that's why the name sounded familiar." Edward got up and grabbed a bottle of rum from the buffet. "And after that?"

Tatcher watched as he poured two glasses. "After that, he quite the Navy and was given an estate in Nassau as a reward for his service to the crown. There he became a merchant."

"Weapons?" asked Edward

"No, rum and luxury goods."

"So , we still don't know how he got the cannons."

"Or why the governor wanted to meet our guy." Tatcher searched his pocket, pulling out a small cigar and a match.

"Maybe he was switching sides," suggested Edward. "… and, Ed, no way in hell I'm letting you smoke near these pages."

"Fine," grumbled Tatcher, putting his cigar away. " But, I don't buy the switching side thing. From what I can read here, he seemed to be pretty big on the whole _King and Country_ nonsense… but who knows. Everyone has their price." Tatcher, never one for moderation of any sort, drained his glass and poured himself a new one. "I just don't see why the governor of Cuba who had an armada at his dispositions, would need to consult or hire this man. "

"Maybe there is another connection between the governor and mister Bates we're just not seeing."

Tatcher shrugged. "Like what?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we're missing something."

"Well, his manor in Nassau as been converted to a museum, they kept part of his correspondence, maybe there is something about his meeting with the Governor."

Edward nodded. So far, they had found many pieces of the puzzle, but the bigger picture still eluded him. An English captain invited by a Spanish governor. A Templar cross on a canon built hundreds of years after the order had been dismantled. A cargo shrouded in mystery. A stolen diary. Each an important piece of the puzzle, Edward was sure of it. He just couldn't see how they all fit together. _What are we missing?_

The plaze vieja's was lively with music and the sound of conversations rising from the terrace. Normally, Mary would have sat on a bench somewhere to enjoy all this merriment from afar, yet at the moment it was the last thing she was in the mood for. She paced angrily cursing between her teeth with each steps. It was all too familiar. She had done this so many time in another life, often for the same reason as right now. _Fucking Edward Kenway_. The man had been back in her life for two weeks and already he had her ripping her hair out.

She was so distracted; she barely felt her phone vibrating in her back pocket. Taking a few deep breaths, she reached for the phone and picked up.

"What?" she hissed, her voice much angrier than intended.

"And how are you doing on this fine day?" greeted Shaun, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Are things going well?"

"Fine, Shaun."

"So, is your friend just like you remembered?"

"More, than you can imagine," she spat out. "That arrogant fool is still leaving chaos in his wake."

Shaun chuckled. "Well, you must be over the moon."

Mary scoffed. Althought, she didn't admit it out loud, there was some truth in what Shaun had said. Yes, she was pissed off. Yes, he was driving her crazy at the moment, but in a weird way she had missed that. It reminded her of a happier time. After all, their relationship, or at least the one they use to have, was built on her providing him a good arse-kicking when he needed one.

As if he had read her mind, Shaun asked: "Has he shown any sign of recovering his memories?"

"Yes and no, but I'm not pushing too hard. I'm treading carefully."

"Of course. Sorry," Shaun said sadly. "And what about the case?"

"It moving along faster than I thought. By the way, I wanted to ask, do you have a file on a certain William Bates?"

"Let me see…" Shaun paused for a moment and the faint sound of key taps reached her ears. "Yes, we do and a pretty big one at that."

"Templar, then?"

"Don't make me state the obvious, dear." He paused, visibly uncomfortable with this next part. "He was more or less Wooden Rogers' successor in the order. I believe you remember him."

Mary didn't need to answer that question. Wooden Rogers was not a name she was likely to forget. It had been seared into her brain with burning white iron.

"Thank you Shaun," she said trying to keep the floodgates of her memories shut.

"Just make sure they don't find anything too big before, he remembers."

"Will do. Talk to you later."

"I think I found it…" Edward could scarcely believe it. He had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "I think I found _the Jackdaw_!"

"So, is that what you boys were looking for all along?"

Tatcher and Edward spun around only to find Mary leaning casually against the kitchen doorframe. An amused smile danced on her lips, a smile that said loud and clear: _'got you_. She had found them with their pants down and there was no denying it. _How did she even sneak up on us_? wondered Edward. _One of us should have heard her come in._

"Am I in or would you two gents rather I go wait in the stairwell until you are done talking?"

There was a loud snort and Tatcher's barking laughter filled the room. "All right _lassy_ ," he said still laughing. "I'd say you earned it. Don't you think, Edward?"

"Couldn't agree more."

Mary smiled and, after grabbing a glass for herself, took a seat beside Edward at the table. _At least she doesn't seem too mad anymore,_ he thought relieved.

"You don't seem exactly surprised about the whole thing," noted Tatcher as she calmly refilled the glasses.

"I supposed not. You were both so secretive about this contract, I was expecting something big and mysterious and it looks like I was right." She winked at Tatcher and turned to Edward. "So, you've found something?"

Edward nodded. "Yes, right there," he said pointing to one of the pages stolen from the archives.

"And, what are we looking at exactly?" asked Tatcher as he glanced at the document.

"You don't see it?" asked Edward. "All right so we know Kenway was attacked by _the Athena_ on june 27th and that while he managed to sink it, his ship was severely damaged. He even wrote that the second mast was practically collapsed…"

"He wrote?" interrupted Mary.

"In a travel log."

"And you have that?"

Edward and Tatcher exchanged a glance, both of them wincing slightly at the question.

"We have my notes on it…" Edward said finally. "Someone decided they needed the journal more than I."

Mary nodded, but didn't say anything else, instead waiting for him to continue.

"Anyway, he couldn't have gone very far with his ship in such a state. So I checked any damaged ship that arrived Havana during the week following the 27th."

"How many?" asked Tatcher.

"Five. Three of which were coming from the thirteen colonies and were apparently damaged in the same storm."

"That leaves us two. Are you sure the Jackdaw's among them?" asked Mary.

Edward shrugged. Of course, he couldn't be sure. In all honesty, the evidence he had was mostly circumstantial and he was making a leap of faith most scholars would have refuse to do without more evidence. Luckily, Edward wasn't a scholar.

"Well… both ships are brigs with a similar built, but I think it's that one," said Edward as he pointed to one of the same on the registry.

" _The Saint-James?_ " said Tatcher not quite convicted

Mary frowned. "Why that one? "

"For one, that brig left before the repairs were finished and the docking fee and repair costs were covered by someone already in Havana. I don't know who it was but someone was expecting that ship."

"We know Kenway was headed to a rendezvous in Havana," said Tatcher.

"Right. There's also the names."

"The names?" said Tatcher and Mary with one voice.

Edward nodded, pointing at both the name of the ship's name and the captain's name on the form. Actually, it was that small detail which had attracted his attention before anything else.

" _The Saint-James_ piloted by _James Scott,_ " read Tatcher. "Wait, wasn't Kenway's first wife a Scott?"

"The mother of his daughter, yes," grinned Edward. "Kenway wasn't suppose to return to the West Indies so he'd need an alias to travel and it only makes sense he'd pick something relating to his past."

"Still," said Mary. "Scott is a fairly common surname…"

"That's true, but it's not just the last name. _James_ Scott Captain of the Saint- _James_."

"What's so special about _James_?" asked Mary, her tones oddly flat and controlled.

"It might be a long shot, but during his first years under the black flag, Kenway lead several raids with a pirate named James Kidd. They were friends."

"I've heard the name before. He disappeared later, didn't he?" she said.

Edward nodded. "No one knows for sure what happened to him. Probably, died in a raid."

"I even meet about a guy who claimed that James Kidd was nothing but one of Mary Read's old alias," chuckled Tatcher.

" _Your name's not James, is it?"_

 _She chuckled, her laugh hanging in the air around them. "Not most days."_

Edward frowned. There it was again; hushed voices resounding in his mind. The words they whispered felt familiar, but he couldn't recall hearing them before nor did he really know what they meant. It was worrying. Especially since it was the second time it 'd happened today. It was like his dreams were leaking into his waking though. At least he hoped that's what it was. The only other alternative being that he was on the verge of insanity and slowly tipping over.

He emptied his glass twice, hoping the rum would quiet the whispers. The amber liquid fell to his stomach, tracing with fire the outline of his throat.

"Anyway," he said, putting his glass on the table. "Kidd was a member of Kenway's inner circle and it would be fitting to chose the name of a fallen comrade as an alias."

"That's quite an honour," said Mary. She looked down unable to meet his gaze. Edward was tempted to ask her if she was all right, but she didn't give him the time. She exhaled slowly and, forcing herself to look into his eyes, she asked: "Where do we search now?"

"Nassau," interrupted Tatcher who was going over the stolen page. "That's were we look next. Mister Bates came from there and James Scott listed it as is destination after Havana."

"If that is Kenway and he was traveling under an alias couldn't he have lied about his destination as well?"

Tatcher shook his head. "I've been going through your notes on the journal and one of the drawing you copied in there looked strangely familiar." Tatcher flipped through Edward's notebook until he found the right page. It showed a crude drawing of cliff. " … I just remembered where I'd seen it before. It's in Nassau, not that far from my place."

Mary refilled their glasses and raised hers to propose a toast. "To Nassau?"

"To Nassau," said the two men, raising their glasses as well.

That night, as he laid in one of Mary's guest rooms, Edward tossed and turned unable to will himself to sleep. He was exhausted, but his mind kept replaying their narrow escape from the archive on a loop. _No_ , he thought with an exasperated groan. _Edward King doesn't do regret._ But thinking it didn't made it true.

Unable to quiet his mind, Edward got out of bed and left his room. The corridor was echoing with Tatcher's snores as he made his way toward the master's bedroom. He cracked the door open to see if Mary was asleep.

"Edward?" she asked with a yawn, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Sorry, to wake you up," he whispered as he slipped inside her room and came to sit at the edge of her bed.

Mary let her head fall back on the pillow. "What's going on?" she asked struggling to keep her eyes open. "Bad dreams, again?"

"No. I… I wanted to apologies for what happened at the archive. I acted like a complete cock and I'm sorry; I should have listen to you when you told me to go." Mary looked up at him, her eyes now open wide. She seemed taken aback, but only for a moment.

"I appreciate the apology," she said. A smile spread on her lips. It wasn't her usual secretive half grin tho. This smile was warmer, softer. "Even if you really behaved like a selfish arrogant fuck-"

"Glad we're clear on that," said Edward raising his hand in the air. "Better go back to bed before I do something to piss you off again."

"Wait." She scooted over, making room for him. "If you want," she offered.

"It's tempting" he admitted looking as the empty place next to her.

"Just to sleep, tho," she reminded him.

"Less tempting, but still." He kept his tone was playful, hiding behind the joke. In truth, he didn't really care about having sex with her. Well, no, that was a lie. Edward had been attracted to her since the first moment he had seen her, but his desire to share her bed was more complex than that. Having her near seemed to repel the dreams plaguing his nights. It made him feel safe in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Edward slide under the sheets beside her with a satisfied yawn.

"Thanks," he said. Already, he could feel himself his eyelids growing heavy. "It's actually kindda nice to just sleep next to someone for a change."

"Not going soft on me, are you?" she whispered playfully.

"Not everywhere…" he said with a grin

A laugh escaped Mary's lips against her will. As always, he made it impossible for her to stay crossed with him for very long.

"Keep it in your pants."

"Aye, Captain!"

Mary bit back a smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Kidd…" he replied as he closed his eyes.

He felt Mary's body tense up next to him. "What did you just say?" she asked, sitting up.

Edward turned toward her, his eyes blinking rapidly to stay open. "Goodnight Mary. Why?"

"Are you sure that's what you said?"

"Yes, of course" he yawned. "…Isn't it?"

"I must have misunderstood. Sorry," she said as she laid back down, facing away from him. "Goodnight, Edward."


	10. Lowlands away

Lowlands away

Mary and Edward sat on the bulwark of the _Captain Kidd_ ,waiting.

It was still early, but the day was shaping up to exceptionally warm. Already, the air was hot and heavy and the humidity clung to their skin. Mary whipped a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead and closed her eyes to welcome the ocean breeze's lazy caress on her face, even if it did little to make the heat more tolerable. _Thank god we are leaving today,_ she thought. She was accustomed to the Caribbean's weather, but this was simply ridiculous. Seven days in the cool ocean air was exactly what she needed.

They had planned to leave for Nassau that very day and everything was set for their departure. Only one thing remained; Tatcher had yet to recuperate his boat, held hostage by the Cuban authorities.

"Do you think he'll be much longer?" asked Edward, breaking the silence.

Mary shrugged, her eyes still closed. "Hard to say." Tatcher had been in the port customs' building for already an hour and he had yet to give any sign of life. Not that she expected any different. The Cuban officials were hardly known for their expediency.

Mary absentmindedly rearranged the red scarf she wore on her head. Even with her eyes close, she could feel Edward's gaze on her, following her every movement.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, really," he tried to argue, before correcting himself. "The scarf…I like it. It suits you."

Mary smiled, but didn't say anything, unsure what words would have escaped her lips had she opened her mouth to speak.

From afar, Edward saw the customs office door flung open and Tatcher stormed out.

"We might have a problem," he said. Mary opened her eyes with a sigh to look in Tatcher's direction. Even from where they were, she could see the impressive shade of scarlet covering his face and the angry glint in his eyes. _Oh no. Who has he been yelling at, now?_ "And he's not alone." Edward was right. A young man stuffed in a customs' uniform too big for him was escorting Tatcher. The poor boy was white as a sheet and and his eyes were wide with fear. He looked like he was seriously questioning his choice of career right about now.

"What happened?" she asked Tatcher as he reached the _Captain Kidd_.

"They're bringing her over," answered Tatcher. His tone was surprisingly cheerful and Mary couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Then again, it had always been hard to tell with him. "They insisted someone from their office assisted to our departure." He gave the young man a friendly slap on the back, making him flinch away. "I think they really want me gone."

"So, there is no problem?"

"No."

Mary wasn't convinced. "Then, why does the lad look like he's either about to start crying, shit his pants or both?"

"Oh, that…" said Tatcher.

Edward rolled his eyes, holding back a smile. "There it is."

"They originally told me it would be two days more to process the paper work and all that shit. So I just decided to… motivate them a bit."

"And by that he means going batshit on them until they were ready to do anything just to get him out of there."

Tatcher grinned widely. "Very few people have the guts to stand up to an angry nutcase."

Mary rolled her eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to look annoyed. It was good to see how little he'd change. _Good old Thatch._

"Well if you're done making low level employee wet themselves," interrupted Edward. "I think your girl is almost at the pier."

He was right. _The Drunken Skeleton_ bulky silhouette was slowly making her way toward them. She was an impressive one all right with her black hull and her red sails clashing against the blue sky. Big and flashy yet practical. In other words, perfectly suited for her owner. _Still, not quite as elegant as mine still_ , thought Mary with no small amount of pride. Not that Tatcher would ever agree with her on that. Like all old sailor, he had a soft spot forhis boat. It was obvious by the almost amorous look in his eyes as he watched her dock and by the way he patted the hull affectionately as if greeting an old friend. How he must have missed his old lady.

Always one for theatrics, he jumps on board and announced loudly, "Well lads… and lass, we sail to Nassau."

* * *

Standing at the stern of _the Drunken Skeleton_ , Edward watched Cuba slowly disappearing in the distance. Mary was kneeling beside him, checking the towing cables and her _Captain Kidd_ bobbed gently in their trails.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine like this," replied Mary. "If the sea gets too rough or if there is a delicate passage, get back to my boat and unhook the cables." Mary stood up. "It was getting kinda lonely out there… plus, I was getting sick of stopping for you to catch up with me," she added. Her voice grew louder at the last words, making sure the jab didn't go amiss to the owner of the ship.

Tatcher shot her an outraged look from the helm. "How about some respect, lass, unless you want to be swimming to Nassau."

Edward shook his head with a smile. He pulled two beers from the icebox Tatcher always kept on the deck and offered one to Mary. His fingers brushed against hers. A split second to long for it to be completely accidental. She pretended not to notice and he pretended he hadn't done it.

Edward forced a smile and sat on the cooler, searching for something to break the silence, "I meant to ask you earlier," he began. "Why do you refer to your boat as a _he_?"

She glanced up to him and took a sip from the bottle. "Why would I do any different?"

"Aren't ships traditionally _she_?"

"Only, because traditionally sailing is a boy's thing," she countered with a smile. "You greedy bastards always liked to keep to fun stuff to yourselves."

They were interrupted by Tatcher, calling from the helm. "Would one of you go tighten the jib sheet or are you two set on letting me do all the work while you sit there drinking?" Edward handed his beer to Mary and stood up with the most formal "Aye, sir!" he could muster.

As he walked to the bow, Mary went to sit by Tatcher who greeted her with a small nod and a smile. "Good to see you decided to sail the rest of the way with us." He glanced at Edward then back to Mary. "I know he's happy about it." Mary didn't reply. She simply took another sip and swallowed quietly. "He's different with you around. Even stops having bad dreams." Tatcher paused, debating how much should be said right now. "Did you know about it?"

Mary nodded and tucked a small braid in her headband. "He mentioned it, said he doesn't remember what they're about."

"Maybe it's best he doesn't…" said Tatcher with a sad smile.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Whatever wakes him up screaming is buried deep. God knows, the damages it could do if it came out."

"You think it's a repressed memory." The words had escaped her lips. More a statement, than an actual question.

Tatcher shrugged. "He was removed from his parents care as a toddler and moved from foster home to foster home more times than he can count after that. It's not a figure of speech, he really lost track. With a childhood like that… I'd be surprised if he didn't have a few repressed memories."

Mary looked sadly at Edward who was busy adjusting one of the downhaul and turned back to Tatcher. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"In case he didn't," replied Tatcher. Mary frowned. _Way to stay vague, Thatch_.

"Wait. Is this supposed to be a stay-away-from-my boy speech?"

"No it's be-careful-and-don't-get-fooled-by-the-overconfident-act speech."

Mary looked up to him and smiled fondly. Now, more than ever, she thought of him as one of the wisest man she'd ever meet. You simply needed to look past his well-crafted mask to see it. She looked away, turning her gaze to Edward who was walking back toward them with a content smile on his face. Mary felt her heart swell in her chest. He'd always taken such pride and joy in every small task on the ship, even after he got the Jackdaw. That hadn't changed.

"He's lucky you found him," she said silently adding: _thank you for being there when I wasn't._

"I'm sorry it didn't go that way for you."

Mary looked at Tatcher, surprised. "… I didn't say-"

"You didn't have to," he replied.

She shrugged and looked away. "It's all right. I found my way out. Eventually."

"…and you're not alone anymore, _lassy_."

"No," she smiled. "I'm not."

* * *

"So what's the plan once we reach Nassau," asked Mary as they sat down at the Marina's terrace. With their destination only two days away, the three of them had decided to stop in one of the small island on their way to stretch their legs and grab a bit.

Edward frowned. Hadn't they discussed that already? "We agreed we'd start at the Captain Bates museum. See if they have any documents tying him to the Governor."

"Yes, but how? Because just checking it out isn't a plan; it's a really vague idea."

"Can't you… find a way in?" asked Tatcher to Mary.

"Nope," she said, with an exaggerated popping sound at the letter 'p'. She pulled a brochure of the museum and handed it to Tatcher.

"Where did you get that?"

"Tourism desk inside." She simply answers before pointing at the picture of the building on top of the brochure. "Do you see that?"

"No." replied the two men with one voice.

"Filled with tourists, metal bars at every windows even on the second floors and this. See there? Security Cameras. Three of them in this shot alone. Do you see the little red light on it? It means those aren't just for show." She ran her fingers through her hair, toying with one of her braids. "Sorry, Tatcher. " He groaned and tossed the brochure back on the table, unable to hide his disappointment.

Edward, on the other hand, simply frowned as he studied Mary's face. The amount of detail she'd got from that single picture was impressive. It also wasn't the type of details you notice unless you were used to getting in and out of places without being seen. Whatever Mary James past had been like, he suspected it was a lot more exciting than he knew.

" _Looks to me like they use bells to signal trouble. See there? We'll want to disable those before pushing too far. With so many men about we can't rely on stealth alone… So, I'll do what I can to distract them giving you a chance to cut them down. Ready?"_

"I'll be damned! Ed Tatcher in the flesh!"

The voice rang loud and clear over the mumbles of the voices inside Edward's head. His heart still thumping painfully against his ribs, Edward turned around to see who it was. The newcomer was non other than Sully, Tatcher's old business partner. Edward had only met him a few times, but he was well acquainted with his reputation. Just like Tatcher, Sully was an important figure of the treasure hunter scene. So was his protege.

"Well, well. God damned Sullivan! What are you doing here?" asked Tatcher, rising to greet his old friend.

"Working on a contract. Cohibe?"

Tatcher took the offered cigar and eagerly light it before sitting back down. "Does that mean you'll pay back some of the money you owe me?"

"No offence Ed," he said, grabbing a chair. "But I owe money to quite a few people scarier than you."

Tatcher shook his head with a sigh. Sully had a habit of borrowing money to the worst people imaginable. "Sully you remember Edward."

Edward with a forced smiled. "Good to see you again mate."

"And this is-"

"Mary James," finished Sully. "How you doing kid?"

Mary shook his hand with a smile. "Not bad."

Edward sat back silently as the other chatted. He nodded occasionally and laughed when the others were, but in truth he wasn't listening to a word of what they were saying. The voices were back. He hadn't heard anything unusual since leaving Havana, but now here it was again. Senseless whispers echoing in his head. Voices disturbing his waking thoughts, fading out reality. _No,_ he thought. _Not voices. Voice._ This time there had only been one voice and the strangest thing was that he was sure he'd heard it somewhere before. But where? A dream maybe. _Who cares where you've heard it! You are hearing things that aren't there. That can mean only one thing, that you've gone fucking insane._

"What are you doing with these?" asked Sully. "Planning a field trip?"

Edward looked at Sully not quite sure what he'd been asked. The man was looking at him holding out a piece of paper. _Oh, the brochures. Right._ "You know the museum?"

Sully nodded. "I know the curator actually." Edward's eyes widen slightly as Sully's words hit him. And, he wasn't the only one.

"Do you think we could meet with him?" asked Tatcher.

"Since when do you have an interest in meeting _museum geeks_ , Ed?"

"Since, they might have information I need to finish a job."

Sully nodded and pulled a cigar from his shirt's pocket. "All right," he said once that was done. "If I do this, what do I get?"

"How about we'll consider it paying back a small portion of the huge amount you still owe me."

The man gave Tatcher an amused glance and took a long puff from his cigar. "Always a pleasure to do business with you. Just give me a week and I'll make it happened."

* * *

It was late and Edward should have been asleep. But tonight, not even Mary's presence at his side could ease his mind. His migraine was back and he could feel his heart pounding so fast it felt it might burst. _Deep breaths,_ he reminded himself. Eyes open wide, he laid still listening rhythmic sound of the waves breaking against the hull and of Mary's soft breath. _At least someone is getting a decent night of sleep._ He turned on his side to face her. Watching at her was better than staring at the ceiling.

Without thinking, he reached out to push aside the locks falling in front of her eyes. His fingers brushed against her forehead. It was a light touch, barely the shadow of a caress, but it sent his head spinning. Something was wrong. It wasn't the sudden dizziness or elevation of his already rapidly thumping pulse. Both of these things could have been explained by the… whatever it was he felt for Mary. No it was something else. Her skin felt glacial on his fingers. He looked at her face, debating on whether he should wake her up, but what he saw wasn't Mary's sleeping face. He saw her laying downs, her body limp and her skin drained of all colours. The worst was her eyes. They were open staring into nothingness. They're usually sparkling brown already growing duller. Edward blinked in horror, fighting the scream that threaten to escape his throat. One blink and it was gone. Mary was stirring slightly in her sleep in front of him _It wasn't real._ Just like the voices. It was nothing, but a figment of his imagination. But that didn't stop it from feeling real. Nor did it stop his limbs from shaking and bile from rising to his lips.

He ran to the deck as fast as he could and leaned over the bulwark, spilling the content of his stomach in the sea. The panic clouding his thoughts began to dissipate, blown away by sea air. Still bent over the railing, he took a few deep breaths and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Somewhere behind him he felt a gentle hand pressing on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" asked Mary, as she rubbed his back gently. "Another bad dream?"

"No." Edward wasn't sure why he'd just lied. It would have been so much easier. "I wasn't asleep."

"Did you hear something or see something?"

"Both," said Edward fighting a new wave of nausea crashing over him. "I heard voices a few times… but this time I saw something."

"What did you see?"

The image of the corpse flashed back before his eyes forcing Edward to bend over the railing once more. He expected Mary to step away for a moment, but she didn't. She stayed right there, her hand still resting between his shoulder blades. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But can you tell me something, is this new?"

He nodded resting his face in the palm of his hands. "I think it started the day we meet."

"Maybe I should tell Tatcher…"

"No." His tone tolerated no contradiction. "He worries enough as it is."

"Fine, I won't tell him." Mary crossed her arms visibly displease with that particular request. "But I have one condition and it's not negotiable. You need to see a psychiatrist."

"I told you, I've seen one already. Hell, I've had-"

"Well that was before you started to hallucinate, wasn't it."

"Mary, I'll be fine."

"You are not fine," she hissed. "And let's face it you can't hide from the dreams in my bed forever."

"That's only what I'd have you think," said Edward in an attempt to ease the tension. "It's actually part of my long-con to get into your knickers'."

She stared him down without so much as the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Is the stress induced vomiting part of it too?"

"Of course. It's shows vulnerability. Makes it's more likely you'll want to comfort me later."

"Well, you still have some 'vulnerability' on your chin," she said as she pulled a tissue from the pocket of her pyjama pants and handed it to him.

Edward wiped his face and sighted. She wasn't budging an inch.

"Where will we even find the time to shop for a doctor in Nassau?"

"Even if we did find one it could take months to get an appointment."

A self-satisfied smile stretched on her lips. "Luckily for you I know someone who runs a mental health clinic in Nassau. He's good; he'll help you."

"And I suppose there is no way I'm getting out of it," he said, defeated

"No." The answer was absolute and Edward had no doubt she'd find a way to enforce it one way or another. "Deal?" she asked extending her hand.

"Deal."

A/N

The Drunken Skeleton: The name of Tatcher's ship is actually a reference to Blackbeard's flag. Unlike what most people think, there wasn't just one pirate flag. It varied from captain to captain. For instance Calico had the flag depicting a two cutlass crossed beneath a skull. Thatch went for something a tad more… eccentric I wanna say. His ship sailed under the banner of a drunk skeleton wearing a crown and holding a spear, because he's that fucking awesome.

Jib: A triangular sail at the front of the ship, generally attached between the head of the main mast and the bowsprit

Jib sheet: one of the two ropes by which the jib can be trimmed

Downhaul: any rope that can be used to bring down a sail.

Also congrats to those of you who spotted the gratuitous uncharted cameo.


	11. In the name of sanity

Chapter 10: In the name of sanity

"That's awfully… suburban of you, Tatcher," Mary said as she glanced at his house from the deck. She was surprised. A pretty yellow house with a flowery garden wasn't exactly the type of place where she'd pictured Tatcher living. _What would his old self have thought of that?_ she wondered smiling to herself. It just looked too homely for him with the pool and the wooden swing on the porch. It was even surrounded by a white picket fence for god's sake!

"Well when the kid moved in here, I figured I needed something bigger and with a yard," said Tatcher as he unloaded their suitcases. "Plus, there's a pretty decent school nearby." Mary smiled. There was something undeniably sweet about that picture. The fearsome Blackbeard, the man whose very name had brought fear to the heart of every sailor in the West Indies, shopping for something with a nice yard near the good schools.

"Wow," she said, "did you get a minivan too?"

"Just get your things inside," he grumbled as Edward burst into laughter, confirming there was some truth to her jab. _So, Thatch in a minivan. Now that's an image._

Bags in hand Mary cracked the fence open and entered the garden. She'd almost reached the back door when it flung open and a large dark skinned woman rushed out. She looked at Mary from head to toe, as if she was assessing a potential threat.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked her fists firmly planted on her hips. Mary looked at the older woman, her mouth gaping. Until now, she would have thought it impossible to be intimidating in a brightly coloured apron with dolphins and flamingos. She would have been terribly wrong. "Well?" insisted the woman, clearly not impressed by Mary's reaction.

"Daisha!" called out Edward from behind her. The woman's gaze shifted from Mary to Edward and, instantly, her expression softened and her face light up warm smile. She rushed toward him and placed two loud kisses on his checks.

"Whatcha' doing here boy?" she asked.

"We're staying here for a while. Didn't Tatcher tell you?" Daisha quirked her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. Obviously, Tatcher hadn't.

"And who's that?" she asked gesturing in Mary's direction.

"Oh right. Daisha, this is Mary. A friend of mine." Mary smiled. The word had rolled off his tongue easily. Friend. Not colleague, not acquaintance, but friend. "Mary, this is our housekeeper, Daisha."

"Pleasure to meet you," she said, letting go of the bags and extending her hand to shake Daisha's. The older women ignored it and instead pulled Mary into a tight hug. Apparently, friend of Edward's was the only title you needed to earn Daisha's trust and affection. Normally, not one for hugging strangers or hugs in general, Mary found herself returning the embrace without thinking. The housekeeper smelled of cleaning soap and cooking spice and, in that instant, Mary could have sworn there was no more comforting smell in the word.

"Welcome to our home," said Daisha before releasing her and turning to Edward. "Get those cases upstairs, will yah?" She snapped her fingers and pointed at their luggage in an authoritative gesture. Mary couldn't suppress a smile as she watched Edward rush to do as he was told. _Makes you wonder how much trouble I could have avoided if I'd learnt that finger snapping thing._

Mary paced around the living room, a glass of Daisha's home made switcha in one hand and her phone in the other. There was no one else in the room. Edward was still unpacking everything as Daisha had asked and Tatcher had been sent to buy a few ingredients for tonight's dinner. There was no denying it, the housekeeper ran a tight ship. Normally Mary would have insisted on helping, but today this moment of isolation was exactly what she needed. She had an important call to make; one she could hardly do with the others around.

"… So can you meet us tomorrow?"

"I'll clear my schedule," replied the man on the phone. His voice deep and calm as always. If he was nervous or worried, it didn't show. Some part of Mary hoped he was. It was selfish, but she needed someone to share her worries about Edward. Someone who knew.

"Perfect. We'll be there."

There was a long pause, before her friend added: "Just one thing, don't get your hopes up. I say that as a friend."

Mary nodded, only able to manage a small noise of agreement. It was true: hope was a luxury she could only afford in small doses. She needed enough to keep her pushing forward, but too much and she'd risk being blinded by it. _Too easy to be careless when you're confident everything will turn it okay in the end,_ she thought with a sigh. It was a complex posology she'd never quite mastered and, too often, she found herself stirring her mind between despair and overdoses of hope.

"You needed to make a phone call?"

Mary spun around to face Edward who stood in the doorway, eyes fixing mobile in her hand.

"Already did," she said, her tone more serious. "That doctor I told you about, we're meeting him tomorrow."

The colours drained slightly from his cheeks. "It didn't need to be so soon," he said feebly. "I feel better today. I haven't heard or seen anything…" he hesitated, searching for the words to describe what was happening to him. "… that wasn't there."

"Oh well, if you haven't heard voices in the last 12 hours, surely it's all good." She wasn't letting this go. Not a chance in hell. "Look, we made a deal and, unless you want me to tell Tatcher, you are coming with me." He frowned and looked away. Threatening to tell Tatcher was a low blow, one Mary wasn't happy to deliver. She didn't like having to result to blackmail, but she knew Edward too well; he wouldn't find the right path without a good kick in the arse. The end justified the means and if this threat was the only move guarantied to work then so be it. For a moment, Edward resisted, refusing to give any signs of agreement. They stood at a standstill, his mind still working to find any way out, but she had left him none and they both knew it. Edward King was checkmated. Finally, he let out a long sigh followed by a stiff nod. "Fine," he said as unenthusiastically as humanly possible. "I yield"

Edward sat silently in the passenger's seat as the car made a turn to the left, leaving the main road for a pristine white gravel path with high edges on each side. Edward felt his heart beat increase as he looked toward the end of the path where stood an imposing gateway guarded by two security agents. _If you go in there, they're not letting you out,_ whispered a cruel voice in the back of his mind. The thought was perfectly irrational and he knew it. Still, it left a bitter taste in his mouth and for a brief second he could have sworn he felt the heavy weight of metal bars surrounding him.

They reached the gate and Mary lowered her window, greeting one of the security guard with a small nod.

"Good morning ma'am, sir," said the man courtly. "I'll just need to see some ID. Simple security measure I assure you. To insure the privacy of our clientele." _The bloke sounds more like a butler than a security guard_ , thought Edward as the guard checked the ID's commenting politely on the weather. "May I ask why you're here?"

"Of course," smiled Mary. "His name is Edward King, he has an appointment with Dr. André and I'm Mary James. I'm accompanying him"

"One moment, please, let me just make sure you're on the list," he said stepping away from the car to whisper a few hushed words into his walkie-talkie. _Polite or not, these people do not fuck around with their precautions_ , Edward thought as anxiety balled up in his throat, forming an unpleasant lump. He swallowed hard, hoping the guard would find some reason to not let them in and would force them to turn around, but he had no such luck. Putting down his walkie-talkie, the security guard gave a small nod to his colleague and the gate opened with a loud buzz. He gave them back their ID's with a smile. "Welcome to the Clinic V."

The clinic was nothing like Edward had expected. In fact, it didn't even look like a clinic. The place was composed of several small buildings organised around a larger one. All built in the same modern style and with the same luxurious simplicity. _It almost looks like those posh resorts,_ thought Edward as he glanced at the impeccably manicured lawn and large massifs of tropical flowers that grew between the buildings. _Almost._ A naked man running across the lawn chased by two orderlies wasn't something you'd see in a grand hotel.

Mary pulled in front of the main building and removed the key from the ignition. She turned to him, her expression unreadable as she studied his face intensely. "Ready?" she asked after a moment.

Edward swallowed nervously. "Would it change anything?"

"It would be nicer if you were…" offered Mary.

He let out an irritated sigh and got out of the car. He liked Mary and he knew she meant well, but by god,she could be infuriating at times. Even if she was right, or, perhaps, even more so because she was right.

Before he reached the door, a young woman came out of the main entrance, rushing to meet them. Pretty with long blond hair, she wore the same white scrub as the other employees he'd seen so far.

"Mr. King?" she asked holding out her hand.

"Yes," he said slightly taken aback. "Were you waiting for us?"

The girl smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "I'm Nurse Smith. I was told to take you to the doctor's office. Please follow me."

Nurse Smith led them to an imposing set of frosted glass double doors. She knocked and a man's voice called from the other side. "Come in. It's not locked." Edward took a deep breath and reached for the door knob. The double doors opened to a luxurious office. From the threshold, Edward glanced at the ink blotch picture that hung from the wall and the large leather couch that throned at the centre. _A bit cliché,_ he couldn't help but think.

"Welcome, Mister King." Edward advanced into the room and, sitting behind at a large ebony desk, was a tall dark skinned man. _Dr. André I supposed._ The man smiled pleasantly and got up to go shake Edward's hand and introduce himself. "Dr. Bastien André, pleased to meet you."

Edward cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Same," he lied. In truth, Edward was as far from pleased as humanly possible. A fact that didn't seem to escape the doctor who offered him a knowing smile and turned to Mary and Nurse Smith who were still waiting at the door. "Good to see you again, Jim," said Dr. Andres, his smile widening. _That's weird_ , thought Edward with a frown. _Who's he calling Jim?_ His question was quickly answered asMary returned the smile, answering to the name without hesitation. "I'll need to talk to your friend in private," continued Dr. Andres. "In the meantime, you can wait outside."

Mary nodded her smile suddenly fading. "I thought perhaps, I could go see her…" she asked, hesitant.

 _Who are they talking about?_ Edward wondered. _She never mentioned knowing anyone other than the doctor._ He was about to ask Mary, when the doctor shook his head a sad smile on his lips. "She had a bad night," he said. "It would be better to wait a day or two. For now, she needs rest."

Mary lowered her gaze and, for a moment, she looked lost, almost fragile. Edward felt his throat squeeze uncomfortably. Lost. Fragile. Even unspoken, these words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't like to associate them with Mary.  
"I understand," she said finally, before turning to him and forcing a smile. "Well, be good. I'll be just outside the office."

The door closed behind the two women and Edward was left alone with the Doctor. "So should I go lay down on the couch?" he asked, hoping the sarcasm would drown the hints of nervousness in his voice. Edward didn't like shrinks. He didn't like the way their eyes followed, dissecting each expression, each gestures. He didn't like the way every word out of their mouths seemed like a trap. He hated the way the forced themselves in his head to poke around.

Unphased by the comment, Dr. André simply studied his face. "Do you want to?"

"No, but I also didn't want to be here."

Dr. André nodded solemnly. "…and yet here you are. So we might as well make the most out of it." He turned away and walked to his desk. "What's your poison?" he asked opening a drawer.  
"I'm sorry?"

Dr. Andres pulled two glasses from the drawer and placed them on the desk. "Whiskey or rum?"

"Do you always drink with patient? Is that a new addition to the Hippocratic oath?"

"No harm in exceptionally breaking a rule or two. Rum, right?"

"No whiskey," replied Edward. He wasn't about to give this man the satisfaction of having him figured out so soon.

"Funny, I would have taken you for a rum type of man," noted the doctor casually as he poured two glasses. He took a seat, inviting Edward to do the same.

Edward sat down and took a sip. The amber liquid filled his mouth with a rich oaky taste. _Quality stuff,_ he thought impressed. Despite himself, he'd began to relax. The drinks helped of course, but it was only a small part of it. Something about Dr. André made him feel calm. Or at least calmer than he normally was around therapists. He had barely said or done anything yet, but a tranquil strength radiated from him. Maybe it was his voice low and peaceful or his general demeanour. Edward couldn't quite explain. Just like he couldn't quite explain why one of the hidden lines from Kenway's journal popped in his mind. _A solid anchor to have during a storm._ It was something he'd written about his first quartermaster Adéwalé and somehow his mind had attached it to the man in front of him.

"So why are you here?"

Edward sighed and took another sip. "Are we really gonna pretend you haven't got all that information already?"

Not offended by the comment, the doctor simply smiled and nodded. "Jim has told me the basics of it, but I lack the specifics and it's always more pertinent to hear the events from the patients themselves."

"Why do you call her Jim?" asked Edward. If he was gonna talk he wouldn't be the only one answering questions.

"Very simple. It's because when I first met her she went by James. It was her alias at the time."

"Why did she need an alias?" asked Edward, unable to rein his curiosity. "And who did she want to see?"

Dr. André smiled and shook his head. "So many question and all about her." He paused and took a sip before placing the glass on the coffee table between them. "As you must know, I cannot divulge any information about other patients. This is a rule I will not break. All I can tell you, is that Jim has legal guardianship of one of my patient."

"A family member?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I really can't say anymore. At any rate, I'd rather discuss your life than Jim's or my patient's. So why not start with those dreams."

Edward looked down, avoiding the Doctor's gaze. "There isn't much to tell. I never remember anything." He toyed with his glass, watching the amber liquid dance as he did. "I just wake up screaming with my heart pounding like I ran a marathon."

"You remember nothing? Not even fragments."

"Sometimes, but… generally, I can only hold onto them for a few seconds after waking up then I forget."

The Doctor leaned forward in his chair. "Generally?"

Edward looked up, meeting Dr. André gaze. _Damned, he's good._ "… All right. I remember a woman's eyes and a few weeks ago I was able to remember a sentence. _I'll be with you._ "

Dr. André listened strangely solemn. "What colours were the eyes?" The question caught Edward off guard. _What colours were the eyes? Is that really the first question he's asking?_ But as odd as the question was, Edward found no reason not to answer. "Dark brown. Is that important somehow?"

The doctor nodded, but offered no explanation. "And when did you start hearing things?"

"I'm not sure… but it's recent, a few weeks at the most."

"Ji- Mary also said you saw something on your way to Nassau, two days ago. Do want to tell me about it?"

"No." The answer was absolute. Even if Edward liked Dr. André well enough, there was no way even he would make him go there. Especially when the image of Mary laying dead was still so fresh and clear in his mind.

"You were attacked recently and suffered a concussion." Edward frowned. How could he know about the attack in Connecticut. There were only three people in the world who knew about that. Barnaby, Tatcher and himself. _Oh, and a fourth,_ he reminded himself. His attacker. But Dr. André held his information from Mary and she didn't know. Had Ed told her or did she simply guess? _Did I tell her and I simply forgot?_ he thought, worried.

"And how is your recovery?" Dr. André had spoken forcing Edward to leave the question spinning in his head behind.

"It's fine. I still have headaches at times and I did have a bit of a fit while diving, but the Cuban doctor assured me I was healing well. Much faster than normal, actually."

"Yes, I was gonna say." The Doctor gestured to the faded bruises on Edward's face. "Your injury looks much older than it really is."

Edward shrugged. "I've always healed fast. Is that why I'm hearing things? The concussion?"

"It could be the concussion, but as your nightmares and insomnia predates that incident and due to their severity, your head trauma may very well be completely unrelated."

"So, what do you think it is?" asked Edward impatiently. He knew it was foolish, but he had enough. He had gone through the process a dozen times before and it always went the same way. A few prudent theories tossed around, a few ideas for treatments that wouldn't work and long discussion about managing expectations.

Dr. André glanced at his watch. "You want a diagnostic 20 minutes into the first consultation? You're not a patient man, are you?" he said his kind smile never leaving his face. "Sorry to say a diagnostic can take months, even years as I'm sure one of your previous doctors have told you."

"I never mentioned other doctors."

"You suffer from severe insomnia and have recurring nightmares. A psychiatrist is generally the first referral in these cases. I'm guessing you've been to a long line of psychologists, psychiatrists and sleep specialists. None of them being much help."

Edward let out an appreciative whistle. "You're a smart man," he simply said. "Which is why I'm guessing you've got an idea as to what's wrong with me."

Dr André sighed "Guessed or hoped?" he said before conceding. "Very well "but I ought to warn you that any ideas I might have at this point are purely conjectures and can be in no way taken as a formal diagnostic." Edward repressed the urge to roll his eyes at this display of carefulness. _What a waste of both of our time!_ Still he bit his tongue, he wasn't about to insult the only man who might hold the answer to all of his sleepless nights.

"I don't think what you are experiencing are hallucinations," he began carefully as if he weighed each word delicately before letting them roll of his tongue. "I think they're flashbacks."

"You mean like soldiers who return and still think they're in the war?" asked Edward with a frown.

"In a way," said the Doctor. "When you hear those voices, does it ever feel like the world around you seems to fade away?" Edward nodded. "And when it happens, do you experience intense emotions? To the point where your body responds to the stress?" Another nod. "It's all very common with people with PTSD," explained Dr. Andres. "It's just a way the mind replays traumatic events."

"You think I have PTSD?"

The Doctor nodded. "Insomnia, nightmares, anxiety attacks, irritability and, if we consider those voices bei-."

"But the voices…"interrupted Edward. "They're not memories. They don't say things I've heard before."

"Or you've repressed those memories."

Edward shook his head. It made no sense. Granted, a lot of bad things had happened to him as a boy, but he remembered them. He could remember the beatings, the successive abandonments, all these years of neglect. He remembered the foster home where they made him cut the head of ducks when he was four and receiving the belt when he'd refused to. If he had repressed memories wouldn't he have repressed those as well? Did that mean something even worse had happened? _This is why I didn't want to come_ , he thought. _I just should've told Mary to go to hell._

"Here. Take a deep breath," said Dr. André, his voice, soft and serene, pulling Edward away from the storm in his mind. "Like I said it's too early for a diagnostic." He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and waited for Edward's breathing to steady. "Maybe, it's enough for today," he suggested.

Edward nodded. The doctor was right; he'd reached his limit for now. Still there was one more question he needed to ask. "What if it is PTSD and what if I have repressed memories?"

"There are some medications. Mostly antianxiety drugs and SSRI's." Edward frowned at the suggestion. Meds numbing him to everything was the last thing he wanted. "There are also some very efficient therapies to help you better manage your reactions when dealing with triggers associated with the trauma."

"How can you do that if you don't know what the trauma is?"

Dr. André winced. "I won't lie; it complicates things. But we can learn more by trying to identify those triggers. Most likely, in each situation where you experienced flashbacks, there will be an element that links back to the memories you've repressed." He rose from his chair and pressed a reassuring hand against Edward's shoulder. "You're not crazy, Edward," he said gently.

"Really 'cause it's starting to feel like it," he replied, laughing bitterly.

"Maybe, but try to remember that what you are experiencing doesn't make you insane; it makes you someone who survived insane events. "

Edward mustered a small smile and chugged the rest of his whiskey. "Do you have room in your schedule this week for a follow up? "

"I believe I do, Mr. King. Perhaps next time you'll try the rum. It's especially good."

Despite everything, Edward couldn't help but grin. "I'd love too; I've always been a rum type of man."

Mary waited, pacing in the hallway, until the sound of the door being unlocked marked the end of the session. She held her breath and waited for the two men to come out, impatient to know how things went. _Not too bad, from the look of it_ , she thought as they came out of the office still deep in conversation. _Almost like old comrades._ The thought made her smile. _If only he knew._ Even more encouraging, Edward was smiling. Granted, he looked exhausted and his eyes were a bit too red as if he had been crying, but he was still smiling and looking much more at peace than he had in days.

"Mr. King," said Dr. André. "If you want to book our next appointment you can simply go downstairs at the reception."

Much to Mary's surprise, Edward nodded in agreement. _Guess things went really well._

Flashing her a discreet smile, Dr. André continued. "You can go ahead, I just need a few moments alone with Jim." The maneuver was obvious and Edward's narrowed in suspicion. "I need you to okay a new drug treatment for Miss. Brogan," explained the Doctor. He spoke, looking at Mary, but they both knew the words weren't really meant for her ears. They were for Edward's, who, after a moment of hesitation, had decided to show some faith in Dr. André and went down to the lobby, leaving them to talk.

 _The moment of truth_ , thought Mary as the door closed behind her with a small thud. "So?" she asked, her voice betraying the impatience she had bottled up so well until now. "What's the verdict, Adé?" Her question hung in the air. She could practically see it; five words dancing above their heads. Five words that made the atmosphere of the room grow heavy and the air almost suffocating. Chasing the solemn expression on the doctor's face, a wide smile stretched across his face and suddenly the air felt lighter. It wasn't the polite and gentle smile that Dr. André wore most of the time. It was a true genuine grin that light up his eyes with a playful spark. _Adéwalé's grin._

"It looks promising," he said, confirming what his smile had already told. "The memories have definitely coming back."

Mary nodded anxious to hear the rest. She already knew he had begun remembering, it wasn't the part that worried her. "And how is he handling it?"

"Actually, better than you did." Glancing at Edward through the glass partition of the nurse station he added "he has some PTSD symptoms, but most of it should go away as he gets better."

Mary chewed her lower lip, flicking her wrist as if to activate a hidden blade that wasn't there. Tell tale signs of anxiety for her. "So he should… make a full recovery?"

Adé let out a long sigh suddenly much more hesitant to answer. His bedside smile had returned and, just like that, the man before her was much more Dr. André than Adéwalé. "I can't guarantee that. Recovering supressed memories can be quite traumatising in itself." It was almost insulting. _Like I don't remember,_ she thought, fighting the urge to snap at him. "I know you know," he added as if he'd read her mind. "But, let me repeat myself. It's not natural to have two sets of memories, two pasts each with contradicting experiences. He's doing well so far, but if you push too hard he could break. So, tread carefully."

"I've learnt my lesson Adé," she said her voice trembling from the sob she was determine to hold back. "One of our friends ended up here because of me. It's more than enough."

"It's not your fault. You didn't know."

She knew he meant well, but these words were absolutely meaningless to her. There was little he could say to alleviate the guilt his previous comment had brought back. She could feel it weighing on her shoulders like a ton of brick. A humourless chuckle escaped her lips. "The fact that I didn't know doesn't make it less my fault."

"Then, let's focus on doing things right this time."

Edward waited in the lobby for a moment, until he could no longer feign interest for the various magazines. _A poor distraction,_ he thought with a sigh. As far as he was concerned, he had been in this place long enough for today. The entire ordeal had left him mentally exhausted, with his head still full of unpleasant questions and in this lobby it was especially hard to steer his thoughts into more pleasant waters. Maybe with some distance, between him and the clinic, keeping the questions at bay would be easier.

Questions were still swarming around him, buzzing like so many wasps ready to sting at the slightest provocation, when Mary arrived.

"Hey," she said, taking the seat next to him.

"Is she okay?" asked Edward, unsure if he was allowed to ask. "Your…"

"Friend," completed Mary, staring into space. She let out a long sigh. shaking her head slightly. "No." She paused, her breathing laboured as if that simple word had taken a great deal of effort, and added. "I don't think she ever will be." She rubbed her hand over her face in a vain an attempt to erase the sadness from her features.

"I'm sorry," said Edward. The words seemed insufficient, pathetic even, in the circumstance. He knew better than most how little people feeling sorry changed, but he said it anyway. He did it because maybe, just maybe, he had a place significant enough in Mary's life for those words to matter when coming from him.

She turned toward him, studying his face, the slightest smile dancing on her lips. "Thanks, mate," she whispered, locking eyes with him for a moment and Edward thought for sure he could drown in her gaze. He felt like he was taken back to the day he meet her at the docks. Until now, he could recall vividly the inexplicable wave of emotions that crashed over him that day, but not what had triggered it exactly. Now he remembered. It was Mary's eyes. _Something about them, but what?_ He thought back to the ridiculous question Dr. André had asked earlier; _What colour were the eyes?_ The exact same colour as Mary's. That was the answer. Somehow, by a freak coincidence, Mary had the same eyes he'd dreamt of. Same colour, the same shape and had the same expression.

"…Edward?" she said, maybe for the second time, he wasn't sure.

"What?" he rasped, his voice barely recognisable

"Ready to go?"

He nodded and followed her out of the building in silence, his mind still spinning at full speed. Part of him wanted to write the whole thing as simple coincidence, to bar it from the long list of unanswered questions swarming around him. It would have been much more comfortable to do so, but he couldn't. Just like he hadn't been able to rule out the theft of the journal as a coincidence. He could feel in his gut it meant something. _But what?_


	12. The girl with flowers in her hair

Chapter 11: The girl with flowers in her hair.

The first few days in Nassau flew by without any news from Sullivan. No one wanted to admit it, but they were starting to worry. After all, Sullivan had a bit of a reputation and could be an unreliable ally at times. Luckily, it wasn't one of those times.

They had just sat down breakfast one morning, when the phone rang. Putting down his fork, Tatcher reached for the phone and glanced at the screen. "It's Sully," he mouthed as he pressed the mobile to his ear much to Daisha's displeasure. She wasted no time smacking her employer's hand with a rolled newspaper. "It's impolite to talk on the phone at the table," she hissed at him, "especially with company."

Tatcher rolled his eyes before shooing her away, this wasn't the sort of call he was willing to put off. Edward watched their spectacle, trying very hard to mask the smile creeping onto his face. He'd often caught himself enjoying the little domestic arguments that sparked between them every now and then. He supposed most people wouldn't enjoy the sound of their parent's bickering, but most people also hadn't spent years without anyone resembling parental figure or a family. Hearing Tatcher and Daisha bickering always filled his chest with a pleasant warmth. It felt like home.

After Daisha left in a huff, mumbling something about table manners, everyone's focus turned toward Tatcher's phone. A tense silence settled over the table only interrupted by the distant sound of Sully's voice, too low for Edward to make out what he was saying. After a few moments, Tatcher exclaimed "Sully, you old hag, I knew you could do it!"

Edward let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. _We have our way in_.

"I'll ask them. Gimmy a minute," said Tatcher before moving the phone away from his face.

"So, he got us a meeting with the Curator of the Bates Manor museum," announced Tatcher, smiling from ear to ear, "Says he can meet us tomorrow morning or at two p.m."

"Morning is good for me!" said Edward, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I have to meet an old friend later," he explained, noticing Tatcher's questioning glance. He hadn't told Tatcher about the appointment he had with Dr. André that afternoon and he wasn't quite sure right now was the best moment to bring it up.

"Works for me too," said Mary as she finished fixing herself her second cup of coffee.

"Heard that, Sully?" said Tatcher, pressing the phone to his ear. "Perfect. Always a pleasure working with, mate."

"I also have someone to visit a in the afternoon," said Mary in a disinterested tone once Tatcher had hung up. "I could always drive you in town, Edward."

Edward shot a quick glance to Tatcher and nodded, grateful. That way he didn't have to find an excuse to refuse the ride Tatcher would've probably offered. _She really did think of everything._

With nothing else left to decide, Tatcher clapped his hands loudly and declared: "If it's all settled, I suggest we go and spend the day doing whatever the fuck we want!" He paused and reached for the cigar he always kept in his pocket, placing it at the corner of his lips without lighting it. "But first, I'll go find Daisha and apologie; that woman is scary as hell when she's pissed."

" _The victory of the English over the Pirate Republic of Nassau in 1718, marked the beginning of a new life for Captain William Bates. Using the land he received from his Majesty, King George the third, he built Bates Manor and turned the rest of the land into a thriving plantation. The mansion served as his main residence and the headquarter from which Bates managed the plantation and built an important trade company until Bates mysterious disappearance in 1728. His descendent preserved the house with care as well as an important collection of artefacts and documents, until Bates Manor was turned into a museum in 1965. Since then, it has welcomed over-"_

Interrupting his reading, Edward looked up from the pamphlet and glanced out the car's window. The traffic was dense that morning and allowed little more than a snail's pace. It was especially trying for Tatcher who had always lacked the patience to deal with traffic. He was at the wheel, cursing between his teeth and impatiently puffing the cigar stuck at the corner of his mouth. The heavy smoke filled the car to the point of saturation, making Edward nauseous. _Way too early for that, Ed,_ he thought annoyed. Cracking a window open would be useless in this infernal traffic, unless you wanted to add diesel emanation to the mix.

Doing his best to ignore his discomfort, Edward returned his focus to the passing landscape Nassau's dusty and overcrowded streets. The small town that stood here 300 years ago, lost in the middle of an island almost entirely covered by the wilderness was gone. Most of that Nassau had been destroyed by the passage of time and the massive city that now occupied the majority of the island had swallowed the last remaining fragments. Stuck between the modern structures of resorts and other tourist attractions, the remaining parts of the old Nassau looked out of place. Edward couldn't help but wonder what Kenway, Blackbeard, Read, Vance and all those who had known the old Nassau would have thought of this place. _They wouldn't like it,_ he thought with a sigh. _I know I don't._ Suddenly feeling much older than twenty–four, he rubbed his palm against his face as if to chase any trace of weariness and steered his mind back to the present. Now wasn't the time to indulge his melancholia.

Tatcher parked the car not too far from Bates Manor and five minutes later they were in the main hall waiting for the Curator, a certain Mr. Carlton. It was obvious the museum had spared no expense when it came to security, just as Mary had pointed out when first seeing the pictured of the place. Mentally, Edward ran through the list of security measures that the museum had taken. _Reinforced glass for the windows, camera everywhere, metal detectors, security guards._ It was a lot. Too much for that type of museum, now that he thought about it.

A door opened to their left and a small man stuffed in a grey suit that seemed too warm for the climate entered. Beads of sweat rolled of his forehead which he promptly dabbed with an handkerchief.

"So sorry to have kept you waiting," said the man readjusting the small round glasses. He looked like the caricature of a posh oxford professor minus the tweed. _Fresh off the boat,_ thought Edward. He knew that the habit of sporting a suit and tie everyday rarely lasted past the heathwaves of july in the Caribbean.

"John Carlton," said the man. "You must be Mr. Tatcher. "

Tatcher nodded. "That's me. And these are my two associates: Edward King and-"

"Tracy O'Connor," interrupted Mary with a wide smile. Tatcher simply nodded, the change of identity not throwing him off in the slightest. _Why not give her real name?_ wondered Edward, before it dawned on him he had no idea if Mary James was even her real name.

Carlton nodded and said, "Sullivan mentioned I could be useful to you, but I'm afraid he didn't say why exactly."

"We're looking into a possible meeting between William Bates and the Cuban Governor around 1728," explained Tatcher. "We thought there might be a trace of that in some of the documents you kept."

"I'd be very surprised to find that such a meeting ever took place," said the curator with a hint of disdain in his voice. "Captain Bates was first and foremost a patriot. He was a loyal man who fought for England all his life. A true Englishman," he added.

Edward had to refraining from rolling his eyes at such an impressive display of British arrogance, deciding instead to play along.

"Which is why you can understand our surprise when we heard of this supposed meeting," he said with his most charming smile. "We figured there might be a letter here or something that explained it."

Carlton's smile stiffened a bit. "So you want access to Captain Bates correspondence?"

"For a few days at the most," said Tatcher.

"I see." Carlton paused. "I truly wish I could help you, but I'm afraid it's impossible. I don't have the authority to grant access to the documents."

"What?" barked Tatcher, surprised. "Are you the curator or not?"

Carlton offered an embarrassed smile. "I am, but this museum is privately own and my instructions are very clear on the subject. I need an authorisation from the patron company for any access."

"Patron company?" asked Mary, who until now had let the boys run the show. "The pamphlet for this place said the manor was still in the hands of Bates descendants."

"Not anymore. It's owned by a multinational corporation now."

Mary nodded and a joyless smile appeared on her face. "Abstergo?" she asked and Carlton replied with a simple nod.

"Well, that changes some things," said Tatcher. "The job we're on is for Abstergo."

Carlton gave an apologetic smile and shook his head. "I'm afraid it doesn't change much to my instructions. Who's the resource person for your contract?"

"It's a bit complicated," said Tatcher. "The contract is a bit hush-hush, but they gave me a number in case of problem."

"Then, I suggest you contact them for the proper authorisation. Otherwise, there really isn't anything I can do for you."

"Are you all right, Edward?" asked Dr. André. "You seem tense".

"I'm fine," he said, taking the glass of rum offered by the doctor and bringing it to his lips. "You weren't kidding about this stuff. I'd say it's the finest rum I've ever had."

Not one to be easily derailed by pleasantries, Dr André simply smiled and asked "How are you handling things?"

"Not bad," he answered simply. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"The last time I was here, why did you ask me about the colour of the eyes in my dreams?"

"I was simply trying to see the level of detail you could remember, nothing more. Why?"

"I was just curious," he said, not quite able to bring himself to tell the full story.

Dr André seemed to suspect there was more to the story, but he didn't push. He simply said "all right," before changing the subject. "No dreams or flashbacks since the last time we saw each other?"

"Just a few dreams, but no flashbacks."

"Good," he said, quickly scribbling down a few words on his notepad. "Is everything all right with your work?"

"A few delays, but nothing catastrophic. It's just-" began Edward before stopping.

"Yes?" said the doctor suddenly very attentive. "What were you going to say?"

"I don't really know," Edward said after letting out a sigh of frustration. For a small instant, he had caught on something, but the thought had fled as quickly as it had come.

"Why don't you just try?" Dr. André insisted.

He rubbed his palms against the stubble of his chin, searching for words. "I just get this feeling sometime. Like there's something big I'm missing and... at times, it's like the answer flashes in my mind, but I'm just not quick enough to catch it." Edward paused, unsure anything he had said made sense. He waited for Dr. André to comment or ask a follow up question, but the man just nodded. He just waited in silence for him to continue, a patient expression on his face. So Edward kept talking.

"It's a bit like that thought didn't belong to me. As if someone else had tossed it in my head." He paused and took a sip of rum to give himself the time to organise his thoughts. "Sometimes, it's almost like there are two people inside my head."

Dr André offered a reassuring smile. "The subconscious is an odd thing. Sometimes things slips through the cracks and it can give the impression of thoughts coming out of nowhere. You mentioned a feeling? Is it about your job?"

"It just this vague sense of dread. Like something is gonna jump at our throats, but I don't know what."

"Well, you were attacked," pointed out the doctor.

Edward shook his head. "It's not about that. I'm sure of it."

He'd replayed the attack in his mind many times and not once had he felt any real sense of danger emanating from his attacker. Rationally, it didn't make sense, but he couldn't shake the feeling.

"Well, it matches our previous theory," offered Dr. André. "PTSD is associated with a constant sense of danger. It can make you feel as if a leopard is in the room ready to devour you."

"But?" asked Edward, sensing the hesitation in the doctor's tone.

"But, you and Mary are in an…. unusual branch. Giving how secretive you are about your work, I'm guessing it's not a normal contract." There was a brief moment of silence, during which the doctor seemed to weight what he was about to say next. "Maybe it's not just the PTSD. Maybe your subconscious has picked up on a danger your conscious mind can't see yet."

Edward nodded, but said nothing, letting the silence fill the air between them. Either he was seeing danger where there was none or there was danger looming ahead that he couldn't quite see. He wasn't sure which option he found more worrying.

Once their session was over, Edward and Dr André headed to the Special Patient Unit where they were supposed to meet Mary. Edward glanced at the building in front of him. Reinforced windows, security cameras, and electronic locks. In other words, a cage. He swallowed nervously, an old fear rising inside him.

"Are you afraid we won't let you out, Mr. King?" asked Dr. André as he entered the code to unlock the door.

Edward shrugged. "I just don't like cages. What does that tell you?"

The doctor smiled. "That you're quite sane. I'd be much more worried if you liked them. Sadly, this one is a necessary evil," he added opening the heavy door. "Right this way."

He guided Edward to a large room with numerous tables, chairs and sofas scattered around. A few patients sat here and there under the watchful eye of two orderlies. Mary was at the back of the room sitting at a table with another woman: a girl in her early twenties with fiery red hair. _So this is who Mary came to visit,_ he thought studying the girl's face from afar. She was attractive, or she would have beenif her expression wasn't so empty and her eyes so lifeless. It made her look more like a porcelain doll than a woman made of flesh and blood. The illusion was almost perfect, ruined only by the movements of her hands. One was clutching the sketchbook resting on her lap while the other dragged a pencil franticly across the page. She seemed completely unaware of anything outside the page, including Mary's presence at her side. Seemingly unaffected by the other woman's lack of response, Mary softly talked to her and combed her hair with her fingers like one would do with a child. She even had a few red flowers in her lap which she placed among the red strands of hair, one after the other. She worked fast, each of her gestures precise and measured as if they had been repeated a thousand time.

"Hi," whispered Edward as he reached their table. Mary acknowledged his presence with a smile and turned to the girl.

"Hey Anne, this is the friend we talked about," she said as her finger twisted a loose lock around the stamp of a flower. Edward took a seat at the table with them and introduced himself

"I'm Edward. It's a pleasure."

If the girl heard him, it didn't show. Her unblinking stare remained glued to her drawing. Mary shook her head sadly making it clear that's as much as he'd get.

"I like the flowers," he said after a few moments of silence. "It suits her"

A sad smile ghosted over Mary's lips for a moment. "She always use to wear is like that all the time."

"Jim, can I have a word?" Called Dr. André from the Nurse station. "I need a few signatures to authorize a change in Miss Brogan's medication."

"Of course," she said before asking Edward, "Do you mind staying with her while…"

"Go," he replied, flashing her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I can handle it."

Mary stepped out and Edward found himself alone at with Anne Brogan. That's when it occurred to him he had no idea as to what he was expected to do in this situation. _Should I talk to her?_ he wondered, glancing at the girl who was still busy blackening the pages of her sketchbook, completely indifferent to his presence.

He shot a glance toward the nurse station. Through the glass partition, he could still see Mary and Dr. André talking. "Do you think they'll be much longer?" The question had been thrown more as a mean to break the silence than anything else. He didn't expect an answer or even a reaction. However, as soon as the words passed his lips, the soft noise of the pencil scratching the paper stopped. Edward looked back at Anne. She had stopped drawing and, even more surprising, she was looking straight back at him. For the first time, Edward thought he saw a spark of life in her eyes somewhere deep beneath the surface. With shaky fingers, she placed her pencil on the table and began ripping the page from the notebook, a few millimetres at the time. Stunned, Edward followed her movements; afraid the slightest move on his part would make her retreat to her doll like state.

Once the page was freed from the binding, Anne pushed it toward him. "It's nice," he said mechanically, without even looking down. She frowned, her blank expression disappearing for the first time and pushed the paper further in his direction. _A gift?_ wondered Edward, his fingers reaching for the piece of paper. "Thank you…" His voice trailed of as he looked down at the page. He had expected nonsensical shapes, vague silhouettes or a childlike picture, but what he didn't expect was the image of an old ship, drawn with an incredible amount of detail. Yet it wasn't the level of detail that struck Edward. From stern to bow, this ship was identical to the one in the drawing Tatcher had shown him in Havana. Same number of sails, same number of canons, same everything, down to the unmistakable bird figurehead. _The Jackdaw_. It was undeniably _the Jackdaw_. It couldn't be. Why would some girl locked away in mental institution be able to draw Kenway's ship? Had she seen it before?

Quickly, but carefully, he folded the drawing and slid it in his pocket. He didn't know why, but the idea of anyone knowing about it made him deeply uneasy. For now, it would remain their little secret. _At least until I know what to make of it,_ he decided. Like the perfect conspirator, Anne had picked up her pencil and resumed her frantic drawing, assuming the exact same position as when Mary and Dr. André had left.

"So ready to go, Edward?" asked Mary placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Sure," said Edward, rising to go shake Dr. André's hand.

While he did, Mary took his place next to her friend. She pressed a small kiss on her forehead and whispered a quick goodbye.

Edward didn't know if it was their leaving or if it was something else happening deep inside the broken mind of Anne, but something unleashed inside her. With a violence Edward would never have suspected she possessed, she ripped her sketchbook in half and stood up. But the worst was the scream. That blood-curdling scream that ripped out of Anne's throat, freezing Edward in place. The Anne he'd met earlier was gone; the almost total absence of emotion that had seemed to define her, was now replaced by a total state of agitation and panic. The change was so sudden, so violent it felt surreal. It was as if this entire visit had been nothing but a strange dream that had turned into a complete nightmare in a flash. Edward's mind was spinning and the will to move his body had disappeared.

Unlike Edward, Mary didn't freeze on the spot. To the contrary, her response to Anne's meltdown was almost immediate. Being the one closest to Anne, she firmly wrapped her arms around Anne as she screamed and tried to wrestle away, easing her to the ground as delicately as possible. Anne grabbed Mary's forearm, digging her nails into the skin enough to draw blood, but Mary didn't seem to notice. She kept Anne firmly against her, whispering reassuringly into her friend's ear while the orderlies and Dr. André rushed toward them. Edward watched the crisis unfolding before his eyes, reduced by his inaction to the role of spectator. Some part of him couldn't help but notice Mary's extraordinary efficiency in this situation and he realised it probably wasn't the first time she had been forced to restrain her friend like that.

Quickly filling a syringe, Dr. André kneeled next to them and gave Anne the injection. She wrestled against Mary's grip a bit more before her movements grew weaker as the drugs took effect. "Mary," Dr. Andre said softly. "I need you to let Anne go." Now that the crisis was mostly over, it seemed like it was Mary's turn to freeze. Her arms stayed firmly wrapped around Anne, holding her even tighter. "Mary," insisted the doctor motioning quickly toward the orderlies. "We got this. You can let her go." A few seconds passed and the entire room remained completely still. Dr. André sighed and said "This isn't helping, Mary. I need you to go home and let us take care of her."

There was another moment of silence and Mary gave a small nod before slowly getting back on her feet, wobbling a bit like shell-shocked. It was enough to break Edward out of his trance. Without thinking about it, he took a few steps toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, Mary," he whispered. "Let's go."

Edward absentmindedly tossed the bottle cap on the counter and took a long sip from the bottle. Normally, he wouldn't have dared making the slightest mess in Daisha's impeccably kept kitchen, but right now, he couldn't find the energy to care. Both her and Tatcher weren't home anyway. _Thank god for that._ He needed a moment to recuperate from their afternoon and god knows how much Mary must have needed it too.

She hadn't said anything since they had walked out of the clinic and Edward hadn't had the nerve to ask. She had been there for him many times and now that it was his turn to return the favor, he had no idea how to go about it. That left him with an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He let out a long sigh and reopened the fridge, grabbing a second beer after a moment of hesitation. He wasn't even sure if she wanted his support, but he figured the least he could do was offer.

Feeling the cold permeate through his fingers, Edward headed outside, crossing the backyard until he reached the small wooden gate that separated the garden from the beach. It's wasn't much of a beach by Caribbean standard, a small strand of sand, a pier and a few palm trees, but it was peaceful. When he was a boy, it had been Edward's favourite refuge and today, it was the place Mary had chosen as her's.

She sat at the end of the pier, her bare feet dangling over the edge and her gaze lost somewhere along the horizon, floating between the turquoise of the ocean and the blue sky. She seemed miles away. Too far to react to Edward's approach, even as the pier's planks cracked under his feet. She didn't react either when Edward reached the end of the pier and came to stand next her. If he didn't know her better, he'd think his presence had completely escaped her notice.

"Here," he finally said, offering her the bottle he had brought her. "I thought you could use one." Dragged from her trancelike state, Mary shot him a quick glance before accepting it. "Thanks," she said simply, before her gaze drifted back to the sea. _What now?_ thought Edward as he studied her face in a vain attempt to decipher her expression. Perhaps his presence was more irritating than anything else. Maybe it would have been better to just leave her be for a bit longer. Figuring he'd at least give her a chance to tell him to piss off, he decided to simply ask her.

"Do… you want me to go?" She shook her head slightly in response

Edward sat on the pier next to her and, for a moment, they simply sat watching the waves and drinking in silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked after a moment.

Mary shrugged in response. "Not, especially," she said, before taking another swig.

"It might help," he said, painfully aware he made a poor poster boy for openness.

Apparently, the irony wasn't lost on Mary either, judging by the small tired smile she gave him. It was barely the shadow of a real smile and lasted only a few seconds, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"What was she like?" he asked, unsure why he was asking."….before?"

"A fiery Irish nutjob, in the very best sense of the terms." Mary paused, her eyes following the flight of a seagull circling over their heads, before adding, "You would've liked her."

"What happened to her?"

"It's complicated," whispered Mary. She blinked a few times, hoping to push back the tears that threatened to go running down her cheeks. Two escaped.

Edward didn't say anything. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand. Mary looked down at her hand in his, a surprised expression on her face, but she didn't pull back as he'd almost expected her to do. To the contrary, she entangled her fingers with his and scooted a bit closer. The gesture might have seemed small to others, almost banal, but not to Edward. He saw it as it as something rare: a breech in her defences. Mary had lowered her guard. Had he finally earned her trust? Or was it simply the pain of seeing her friend like this that had caused part of Mary's walls to crumble? Edward wasn't sure and he was all to focused on her face and on his own racing pulse to ponder which one it was.

Mary looked up, finally meeting his eyes and, once more, Edward was sure he would drown in the intensity of her gaze. ' _Wouldn't be the worst ways to go_ , he thought idly. Before he could stop himself, a trembling hand rose to wipe the tears that had fallen and the trail they had left on her on her cheeks. She silently mouthed a "thank you", as if breaking the silence between them would have been sacrilege. Even Edward, who had never believed in anything bigger than himself, couldn't deny there was something solemn and almost sacred about this moment as his fingers trailed from her cheeks to go brush against her lips.

Mary closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath and Edward leaned in without thinking, barely realising what he was doing before his mouth found hers. It wasn't the fiery kisses he'd pictured over the past weeks when his imagination had gotten the better of him. There was no biting or pressing against a wall, but it was just as intoxicating, maybe more. He pressed his lips softly against hers, his hands cupping her face while her own moved to do the same. Her pulse quickened under his fingers, perfectly mirroring his own. The taste of salt and beer on her lips, which Edward would have found completely unremarkable on anyone else, was dizzying. The not so distant sound of a car pulling into the driveway and Tatcher calling out their names reached Edwards ears. The spell was broken. He felt Mary tense up before she quickly pulled away and jumped on her feet. He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn't let him.

"Later," she said ready to walk away. She paused, turning back to face him for a moment. "I'm not mad or anything," she added knowing that's exactly what he'd assume otherwise. "I just need to clear my mind."

The night had fallen and darkness had slipped into the elegant office, filling the room little by little. Soon, the space around the heavy ebony desk was the only thing unconquered by the shadows, protected by the halo cast by the flame of the candles he had lit earlier. He knew he could have gotten better lighting by simply turning on the desk lamp, but he liked working by candlelight. Between their discreet hue and the Louis XIII decor around him, he felt at home, taken back to a time where he had spent many nights in a similar fashion. But that was years, centuries ago.

The buzz of a phone vibrating against the wooden surface rose to his ears, unpleasantly breaking the silence. _Back to the 21_ _st_ _century,_ he thought in annoyance.

"Yes?" he answered, the irritation clear in his voice.

"Sorry, to bother you at this hour. We thought it might be important to let you know right away."

"Well, what is it?"

"Edward Tatcher called."

Instantly, his annoyance vanished. _Had he found something?_

"He's asking for access to Captain Bates correspondence."

He sighed. He had to admit Blackbeard had apparently been doing good work; just not in the direction he needed him to. "Why on earth would he ask for that?"

"Apparently he found out Bates attacked _the Jackdaw_ and he thinks that if he can figure out why they went after Kenway, he'll figure out why he was in the West indies and where he was going."

He took a moment to think. At first, he had tried to do the , even knowing what he did, he had been unable to figure out much about Kenway's comings and goings during the last voyage. However, Thatch was one of Kenway's closest friends, although he didn't remember, he knew the man. Could this hidden knowledge lead the man to conclusions no one else could have reached? _It might be worth the risk. It might also fuck us over royally._

"… What do you want me to say?" asked the person on the phone, worried by the lack of response.

He took a few more seconds, weighing his options. "Tell him we're sending someone to meet him in Nassau."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight."

He hung up and pressed the contact icon on the screen. He scrolled down until he found the right name and hit call.

"Hornigold? Pack your things, we are leaving for Nassau in the morning."


End file.
